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theredofoctober · 9 months

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Midnight Mass DARK AU Fic— GOD HAS MANY HANDS

Cross posted from AO3

Pairing: Dark!Father Paul Hill x OC

Synopsis: A nun moves to Crockett Island for mysterious reasons. Father Paul succumbs to new and wicked whims

TW/CW: non con, religious trauma, blood

Father Paul is a darker, somewhat OOC version of himself, though as close to Hamish's portrayal as I could make him in those parameters

Read beneath the cut

The nun had been avoiding Father Paul Hill since she'd first arrived from the mainland, sequestered, a cloister of one, in a cottage at the furthest edge of Crockett Island.

How she loved that house, in its cultivated solitude. Sometimes, when the nun played hymns on the piano over the draughts that jimmied the windows at night, she imagined herself the sole living person in existence, a single pulse—a single breath—in the dark.

But it wasn't enough; her thoughts were always with her, constant tenants that had followed her for thirty miles across open water, and would follow her under the earth, in time. As a good Catholic, the nun was meant to believe in the washing away of one's sins by God's will, that to repent was to be reborn.

Yet she had repented, and it only felt like running away.

The nun left her new home very little, only to collect her scant groceries from the single store, or as deliveries from the mainland, at the port. Still she hadn't entered the church, although it—the Lord's voice—called to her often, its song undulating through her in a constant wave. Yet the thought of the many eyes and whispering mouths attending each sermon repelled her with a strength she'd felt only at the precipice of night terrors— no, she couldn't go there. Not yet.

And no matter: the nun had her own fashions of private worship, leftovers from the convent of St. Aurelia. She could worship in her home, for now, and remain devout.

Father Paul, the priest on the island, did not seem to agree. Several times the nun had bumped into him whilst running errands, a surprisingly youthful figure in blue jeans and tousled hair, ignorant, it seemed, of his own dark good looks. He'd struck her as both quaintly awkward and charismatic, an artful combination that had likely won over the congregation as much as outward appearances.

The man seemed to spring up from grassy hillocks and rugged shoreline like a Shakespearian ghost, ever-ready with a warm greeting and, inevitably, a gentle enquiry as to when the nun would be attending mass. Did he know that she was coming, or was it mere chance that brought them together, again and again? God's will, Father Paul would likely declare, but the nun was less certain of that.

She'd noticed a particular darkness in the priest's eyes, a furtive stirring of old, untended pain, and new.

The priest had suffered in his life; that, or he was hiding something. The nun had no interest in exposing herself to such volatility, intriguing a man though life's ills had forged. She'd vowed to engage nothing and no-one that might disrupt her peace, and thus she'd nodded her way through every interaction, eyes lowered, thrumming desperately for some gap in the conversation to take her leave.

After that came the phonecalls. Most, after the first, went unanswered; the nun got into the habit of disconnecting the line when she began her day's work—the editing of religious texts for publication—and considered having the telephone uninstalled altogether when she was disturbed in the evening, as well.

It was a blessing that the nun rarely dreamed, for she was sure that the priest would find his way there, too, as he had her daily ruminations.

Thought after thought came in their torrents, all of Father Paul, all of him. He coiled inside her as if with many fingers, many hands opening every hole she had, making them his possessions. The image was sin and sickness, boiling at the perimeters of her mind, irrepressible. But the nun would repress it, she told herself, she would not fold under the fancied urgings of a man that didn't know her.

And he did not know her, no matter what he'd heard from the mouths of gossips, nor from enquiries with the tight-lipped secretaries of St. Aurelia, who would give not an inch, holding grimly to self-preserving discretion.

A few days after the priest's calls ceased there came a knock at the door, an imperious rap that seemed to invite itself in. Bev Keene, the unofficial church administrator, stood about the house for half an hour, wrinkling her nose at the living room decor, and smiling blandly over a cup of tea.

"I don't believe we've seen your face at Mass yet, Sister. Honestly, the whole flock has been expecting you. You don't want to disappoint them, do you? They're all so eager to welcome you to the congregation. Following God's own lessons, after all. 'The Lord watches over the sojourners; he upholds the widow and the fatherless, but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin'— Psalm 146:9'. Words to think on."

There was a clammy sense of shame in the air around Beverly, a bitterness she herself seemed indifferent to. One couldn't stand beside her and not feel unclean, riddled with the squirming discomfort of a child pulled up before their teacher. The nun made quiet attempts to usher the woman from the house, which Bev coolly evaded.

"You do know Father Paul has been trying to flag you down? You'd do well to visit the man. His hands are very full at the moment and he's still so keen to make time for you!"

Too much time, the nun thought, but she felt so harassed that it occured to her that if she acquiesced just once this campaign of polite coercion might come to an end.

So it was that she left her house, one night, and made the long walk to the church, turning around on herself several times as her resolve wavered, then ultimately trudging on.

The air was pale with silence, unstirred but for the crunch of the nun's sensible shoes on unturned stones, her feathered breathing. How easily the walking put her out of breath; perhaps it was the incessant choir of nerves she felt, not the journey, that so tired her.

The wind tugged, insistent, at the nun's veil, and she heard, on that breeze, a strange, sharp cry from far off. A scream, or the shriek of an owl— neither were so savage as this noise, as it seemed to her, a yell of killing triumph.

The nun drew a cross against the dark. Likely it had been nothing, but she'd always feared the unpredictability of nature, the omen of it. There was a certain paganism to the Catholic faith that nurtured superstition, and with the nun's anxieties already at their static heights, her walk took on the feeling of folk horror.

At last the church rose into view, as modest a structure as expected for such a small community. Still the nun stopped in the middle of the grass, taken, again, by a great surge of disquiet. Lights were on in the church, which was not unusual; there were late services that dragged on, and the priest or Bev Keene would sometimes linger afterwards to clean, or rearrange the pews.

But the yellow windows were of such an arid, malevolent hue, like sulphur in a bell jar, that by the time the nun reached the church doors she was trembling, her shadow a cave drawing on the wall.

Slowly, she opened the doors, sighing at the familiar scents of dust and incense. Home was in the smell of this building, more so even than in her own precious space; the nun stepped into the church, between the rows, and closed her eyes a moment, taking comfort where she could before dread quenched the feeling again.

"Ah, Sister! I wasn't sure you'd come by."

The nun sprung to her left, hands seizing the top of nearest bench. Father Paul Hill was coming down the aisle towards her, his lined face breaking into a smile that would have disarmed the Devil himself with its warmth.

"I'd hoped, Sister— prayed, I, ah, I even prayed on it, just a little. I hope you don't mind; I know that can seem a little off-putting, unanticipated goodwill after hardship, but there it is. Does that sound conceited? Maybe it does, unintentionally, of course, but the road to Hell, you know—"

The sudden flow of low, mildly stammering chatter arrested the nun, it being so benign that she could do nothing but stand limply in its swell. There was no flitting away through the doors again now, not when those soft, dark eyes were clipped to her face, now the priest's hand was reaching out to envelop her own. Cold, so cold, that hand, and yet somehow feverish at once.

Was he sick, this Father Paul, or was he, too, felled by trepidation?

"Would you like some tea?" asked the priest. "Or coffee, although it is getting late. There's a kettle and some clean cups somewhere in the backroom, I believe. I always make one, for meetings like this. Something about a hot beverage calms the soul."

Helpless, the nun let herself be ushered to a pew at the front of the church, bound in a swaddle of talk. She knew that there would be purpose beneath the niceties, and sure enough when Father Paul at last sat beside her, drinks in hand, the nun felt as if the jaws of some unseen trap had closed barbed teeth around her.

"I get the feeling you're not one hundred percent comfortable in God's house yet," said the priest. "I understand that. I do. All people of strong faith, we're tested daily, for the bettering of our souls. 'Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him'— James 1:2. All the more reason to seek support, to seek support and guidance, from those who offer it with open arms."

It was nothing the nun hadn't heard before. She sipped her tea with a quiet agony as still the priest yammered on, his voice hypnotic in its depth and repetition.

"I know you must feel rejected, just now. Cast down, like Lucifer himself was, by his father, and likely hurt by the fall in more ways than one; just imagine, consumed though he was by wickedness, the Devil felt, as we all have, as we all do, the spurns and judgement of a loved one."

The priest reached out and touched the nun's arm lightly, making her splash tea over the rim of her cup in surprise.

"The convent of St. Aurelia. It was the only family you had, the community there, wasn't it? I understand your parents died when you were young, a tragic accident. My condolences. Though they know peace now it's never easy, a loss, losing, sometimes, the only people you cared to know. Gone, in a second, and suddenly you find yourself breaking bread with strangers. It's a strength, getting through it alone. I commend you for that."

The sheer compassion in the man's voice made the nun's eyes mist, but she merely blinked until Father Paul came sharply into view again. The nun stared down at his jeans, at a loose white thread she itched to pull free. Her eyes remained there as the priest talked, urging her towards the inescapable question.

"But then, there was another upheaval," he said. "You were asked to leave the convent, abruptly— suddenly, so unexpected. You'd lived there for so long, nearly ten years. It must feel like a betrayal— this, this departure, Eve out of Eden—"

A cool hand touched the nun's jaw, tipped her chin so that she was forced to gaze into the tunnelling black of Father Paul's stare. There was something ruthless in those eyes, the zeal of a man turned to madness by his own preaching. Yet soft, still, as salted butter, and the nun floated in that molten darkness.

"Tell me, Sister. Why were you asked to leave the convent of St. Aurelia?"

The nun broke free of the look, the encroaching hand, and the priest blinked, seeming, for a moment, embarrassed.

"This isn't confession, I know. I know that, but, uh, this opportunity, us meeting like this. It feels like time for truths—fears—to be addressed."

Attempting to rise, the nun shook her head, but it only took a meek gesture of Father Paul's hand for her to sink down again, her limbs hewn of iron weights. He looked at her with a sorrowed fascination, his tea going cold, barely touched.

Still he spoke in that low, lulling tone, still seemed so very amenable.

"I've watched you run away from me like a frightened lamb," said the priest. "Well, from everyone, but me, most of all. At first, I'll admit, I was a little hurt. Wondered what I'd done to scare you away when we'd barely spoken two words to each other. But I reflected on it, the puzzle of whatever was keeping a young woman like yourself—a woman of faith, with so much to give—in such isolation."

Father Paul set his cup down on the floor and folded his hands over his knees. Every motion, every gesture was compelling, as if conducting some strain of terrible music. The words were dangerous, he was, somehow. The nun wanted to stand up, make some clumsy excuse to leave, but she knew that she'd be drawn back, a helpless wave called in by the moon.

She didn't know why. All men were an obscurity to her, this one more than most.

"I thought about dropping in, at the cottage," said Father Paul. "But I didn't want to overwhelm you. Bev Keene did that on my behalf, I fear— sorry about that. Well-intentioned, but heavy-handed. I think she frightened you, her intensity—"

It was yours, the nun itched to say, your intensity, you wouldn't leave me alone—

But she couldn't open her mouth, could only listen as the priest burbled on.

"—Anyway, now you're here, I understand. God has allowed me that. Yes, God, I believe that, I really do. Your guilt, your shame is paralysing you, Sister. Shame that you were sent away from St. Aurelia's, so strong you came all the way to Crockett Island to hide from it. But you don't have to hide it, Sister, not with me."

Sunken into a cringing-self revulsion, the nun shifted back across the pew, putting space between herself and the priest. He inched towards her, his smile the pitying grimace of a doctor with a vicious syringe.

"You'll lose nothing by talking, if anything, you'll gain something. If you remember Psalm 32:5: 'I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.” And you forgave the guilt of my sin.' Your silence, your turmoil. You could be rid of it today, uh, tonight, this very hour, if you wanted to be. It's in your hands, Sister. That freedom. To feel clean again."

Father Paul was close enough that the nun could taste his breath on her face, make out every crease and furrow in his skin. She sensed, under his relaxed confidence, a tension, as before a cat springs. She saw it in the way his head turned too sharply, in the incline of his body over hers.

The priest's eyes were gelid, sinkholes in a slate pit. Coldly, the nun understood that she was being given no choice, that she must speak, feed whatever hunger for contrition stirred in the man's heart, or else sate some other appetite. Or another, still—

Father Paul's hand closed over the nun's thigh, and this time it didn’t tremble away from her. There was something sure, animal, in his touch, the way his fingers latched over warm flesh through the habit, seeking her skin like a caiman crawls to water.

"Please, Father," the nun began, her voice a tremulous whisper.

She stammered over those two words until they guttered to ash.

"What was it, Sister?" asked the priest, his tone rough with a broken kindness. "What did you do at St. Aurelia's that you're so ashamed of?"

His hand slipped the nun's skirt up her thigh with a tender ceremony, and she cried out, a juddering crow-caw of anguish. Father Paul's head tilted slightly, and for a moment there was a luminescence to that stare, the milky white of things seen only in caverns, deep underground.

"I wish things could be different," said the Priest, mournfully. "The telling of secrets. The unburdening of the soul. It's never easy. I wish that it could be. But the nature of growth, Sister, it's painful. Growing pains, they hurt, they always do."

The skirt was up, over the nun's knee, and she wanted achingly to run, to strike the man that touched her with such mercy, but instead she let him push her back onto the pew. The nun gazed up at him, seized by a dread of the inevitable, of the thing she'd known would come when a scent had been caught of her great sin.

"Father," she whimpered, and again could say no more; her mouth was as dry as wafer, her voice drier still.

This time, the priest made no answer. His fingers brushed the bare skin of the nun's thigh, the place behind her knee where a pulse beat with the miserable violence of the Deus irae. The black-silver eyes were fixed there, almost lidless in their lack of blinking, and the nun realised that the priest had bent down, bent in the mode of praying over the exposed limb, his sharp nose almost touching her skin.

Gone, suddenly, was the quizzical arch of those dark brows, all bumbling affability extinguished. Fronds of black hair sprung down onto the priest's forehead, and as he lifted the nun's leg high to press his face to her pulsepoint she saw a creature unhinged, not a man at all, or not entirely.

Pain broke like a cheap mirror across the nun's thigh, and she tried to scream, tried, and failed. The sound was thieved from her lungs as though by the hand of a ghost, as was her strength as she tried to kick, and did no more than dislodge, from her foot, the plain little shoe.

It hit the floor with a resounding thud, like a closed book, but the nun did not hear it, her focus narrowed on the keen, ruby artery of suffering the priest plucked out of her thigh.

His other hand was at her hip, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to hold her to him as he drank from the wound he'd bitten open as though she were a flask in a desert. Blood ran down her leg in sumptuous plenty, soaking her underwear, redding the white.

The nun's body was so stiff with pain and terror that her back and neck ached with the tautness of it. She clutched the side of the pew and muttered faintly to an ear she was abruptly certain did not exist.

"Spirit of our God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Most Holy Trinity, Immaculate Virgin Mary..."

"Yes," said Father Paul, his lips still touching the cut behind the pale knee. "If you won't confess, then pray, pray. There's absolution for us all, in one way or another."

His face was a slick of carmine, dripping its excess onto the nun's calf. As his stare met hers she saw, slowly, the intelligence come back to that primal hollow, something of humanity, although not much of it.

"We all sin, Sister, all of us, even I. God will forgive us, as he'll forgive us again, and again. This isn't the first time someone has touched you; now, at least, we'll be cleansed together, as one."

Was this how he justified his monstrous want, a forgivable sin? Or else the stepping stone to a greater good, the regeneration of a soul? He was lying to himself, as the nun had, in taking flight from her past; no wonder there were holes in her wings.

The priest crawled up her trembling body, shushed her, murmured nothings of consolation as his bloodied hands pushed the useless feather of her underwear aside, as he laid his face alongside hers, anointing her with cloying scarlet.

"I won't judge you, Sister," he said, "if you find pleasure in this. It's normal, in fact, quite normal, the exhilaration of meeting the Lord with the truth bared—"

"Please, God, help me," said the nun, and the priest's irises shifted with that bestial madness, the sheen of lust and religion and killing made one in those terrible eyes.

He kissed her mouth as his fingers breeched her tightness, chaste, at first, then with the passion of a hunter in the night, the covenant of the unholy. His thumb danced her clitoris with the skill of knowing, and the nun had enough presence of mind to be surprised by that before her thoughts were dashed to cinders.

"They tried to cleanse you of this need, in St Aurelia's, didn't they, Sister?" asked Father Paul. "Tried, and failed with the futility of man to erase the very need of man to trespass. I saw it in your eyes: you're young, and on fire with it. I'll burn, with you, a while."

The nun lay under him like a saint carved into marble, as though his touch didn't move her at all. Presently the fingers left, and as fabric rustled another hardness, another piercing thing struck deep, the nail in Christ's palm, the suffering of Job—

"God," she screamed out, and there was so much love in Father Paul's eyes as he moved upon her that she could see scarcely believe that he was within, his cock the spear in the side of Christ, tearing the red scraps of her faith asunder.

It seemed to last the length of three great days, each thrust a thundering violence. Yet still the priest muttered his prayers and maddened sweetness, still kissed her brow with an angel's pure lips as she suffered beneath him. He wanted to bite her again, she felt it; he was starved of that which he had taken.

But it was as if he didn't dare, as if this carnality was the closest he could allow himself to taking such communion again.

"God, forgive us our sins," breathed the priest, against the nun's ruined veil, its wimple crushed and smeared with garnet death. "That we might begin again tomorrow anew. Amen."

He stilled, arcing away from the nun, his groans deep and low. She wished to feel nothing, only the agonies of unhappiness, but even in this God had no mercy; as the hated organ pulsed within there was an answering ripple through her own flesh, the spasms of a joy thrust upon her.

They lay together, a moment, clinging, the devout before some terrible miracle. Then, slowly, the priest gathered himself upright, looked at the blood on his hands and upon the woman. Abashed, he helped her sit; she didn't stop him, allowed him to smooth down her habit, give back the fallen shoe.

"I— I apologise, Sister," said Father Paul, in tones of genuine regret. "I seem to have forgotten myself. God moves me in strange ways, as of late, and I don't dare question His might and wisdom. I'd advise you against that, too. Questioning, I mean. He placed you here for a reason, I feel that completely."

Dully, the nun let him speak, the impossibility of answering a colossus between them.

"It's a pity you feel this way," the priest murmured. "I'd hoped to salvage your trust in God's plan, but I see that will take time. That's okay. We've got plenty of that, on Crockett Island."

He helped the nun to her feet, both of them unsteady in the waning crisis of frenzy. There was a lunacy in the moment, how a kind of performance fell into place between them, a play of being decent and ordinary people.

"Come to the rec center, if there's anything else you need to work through," said the priest. "I'm thinking of offering counselling there, in the evenings. Might, ah, could do you some good."

The nun beheld him with an abstract, distant terror, thinking—a sin, another sin—that she would rather carve out her own throat than be alone with this man once more. But rather than say so she only nodded, a coward's sort of kneeling.

"Yes, Father," she whispered, and stumbled out of the church, down to the beach.

She wanted to keep walking, into the ocean, under the cleansing black of the waves. But again the nun failed her resolve, and tottered on, a broken seabird trailing the shoreline, until the lonely cottage emerged in the distance.

#ao3 writer #dark fic #dark!fic #dead dove do not eat #father paul hill #father paul hill x oc #midnight mass #midnight mass fic #tw!noncon #religious trauma

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wuahae · 1 year

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gravity (is the distance between you and me) (teaser)

kim sunwoo x gn!reader

you tell yourself that this is for the best, that you’re only doing what needs to be done. even if it hurts now, even if it never stops hurting, maybe this is truth you’ve been running from this whole time. maybe this is just acceptance. — or: you break up with sunwoo because you love him, because you refuse to let him fall back down to earth with you; everything that follows after is an inescapable gravity.

idolverse!sunwoo x non-celeb!reader, exes!au, mostly reader-centric // teaser length: 500 of ~13k // angst with a teeny bit of fluff in between // told in alternating past and present timeskips, vaguely canon timeline but don’t look too close

full version here

it occurs to you on a sunday night, the second-hand of the clock only a few ticks away from midnight, that this was never meant to be.

you try to not hear echoes of sunwoo’s voice in your head, admonishments scolding you gently to go to sleep, but it plays in your head regardless. truthfully, it had always sat on the edge of nagging, but you supposed that when it was him, it ended up more endearing than anything else: the pout in his lips, the scrunch in his brow, the worry in his eyes as he'd brush a strand of loose hair out of your face.

there was always something else in his gaze, something you could never quite pinpoint—like he saw something you couldn't, like his gaze had stripped you bare of everything you'd put up to protect yourself. you try not to chase the rabbit's trail thinking about it, shoving the ghost of the memory beneath a quick, heated blink of the eyes.

it doesn't matter anymore. you've lost the chance to figure out what it had meant.

you almost laugh at the reminder; it seems you haven’t changed, even now. greed had always been your deadliest sin, despite everything. you want, and want, and want.

you want what you can’t have, you tell yourself, but you stop at the thought. that's not it.

pause, rewind, play.

because the truth of the matter is, you just want what you don't deserve. you don’t deserve this—the sun-soaked kitchens, the teasing glances, the rhythmic sway in each others' arms as you wait for the rice cooker to beep, your timer set for the oven to ring, the world to finish turning from gold to dark blue to midnight. it's softness that makes your lungs collapse in on themselves, tenderness that burns your skin from even the gentlest brush.

you've been selfish for long enough, you think, indulging in pleasures that should have never been yours. and no matter how tightly you want to continue clinging onto sunwoo's sweet words and empty promises, the little voice in your head drowns it all out in the end.

it's not supposed to be painless; it's rational, practical, inevitable, but so is snipping off the dead leaves off your plant after they've died, tying a tourniquet to a limb before cutting it off to prevent the infection from spreading.

(it's for his own good. you should have done this a long time ago.)

so you pick up your phone, send a single text message to sunwoo, and wait; your knuckles turn white with the knife in your hands, like the first press of the blade to your skin. tie the knot tight, grit your teeth, you can never go back to what once was.

it's 12:03AM when your phone lights up again, eyes burning in the brightness. you can only watch as you bleed.

#sunwoo x reader #tbz x reader #sunwoo fanfic #tbz fanfic #sunwoo angst #the boyz x reader #sunwoo scenarios #tbz scenarios #tbz angst #tbz imagines #sunwoo imagines

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yukipri · 2 years

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Shriek Hawk Wing Muscles Take Flight, Brothers All - A Winged!Clones AU

Text version of what's on the images + additional comments beneath the cut!

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, TRANSLATE, OR OTHERWISE USE MY ART. To share, please reblog! Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!!!

❀ You can see the rest of my art including the rest of this AU through the Masterpost pinned to the top of my blog!

Text on the images:

1) Human Clone Body (non AU)

Here we have Cody as an example of a human clone to establish our baseline.

We'll be using him to see how winged clones, or "Shriek Hawks," have different physiology.

(Thank you for your assistance, Cody!)

2) Human Clone + Wings

This is how Cody would look if we just tacked wings onto him, perhaps how we'd expect him to look.

But his torso only shows the muscles that a standard human would have, so this doesn't really work.

Let's take a closer look.

3) Featherless Wing: Approximate Wing Muscles

Rough base musculature of the wing under the feathers (Cody's arm has been removed for better visibility).

The base of wings are both thicker and longer than legs.

(Cursed image, I'm so sorry Cody.)

4) Wing Muscles on Chest

An example of roughly where wing muscles may extend.

*DISCLAIMER: These images are for artistic exploration only. The artist is fully aware this would not work either, and is prioritizing "what looks cool and hot" over "how to make this dude actually look like he could fly."

5) Shriek Hawk Torso Muscles

As a result of the massive wings on their backs, Shriek Hawks must therefore necessarily have extra muscles on their chests. Here, the wing muscles go under his chest muscles for his arms, creating an extra ridge along his ribs. His chest muscles are pushed outwards due to the extra layer of muscles underneath.

In some ways, Shriek Hawks are closer in physiology to other 6-limbed species like Besalisks than humans.

(You can have your arm back.)

(Also this super doesn't work but we're ignoring that.)

6) Human vs Shriek Hawk

Torso Comparison

7) Wing Feathers Extended Onto the Torso

In addition to their wing muscles, Shriek Hawks also have feathers that extend from their wings, onto their backs, and across their torsos.

These feathers serve dual purposes:

1) The "living beskar" properties of the feathers help provide additional protection on their bodies.

2) Shriek Hawks were hunted to near extinction for their valuable wings. The living beskar feathers wrapping onto their torsos makes it almost impossible to remove a Shriek Hawk's wings without first killing them, as like metal beskar, living beskar cannot be cut while Shriek Hawks are alive. Because killing a Shriek Hawk will cause their feathers to automatically lose the properties that make them valuable in the first place, this discouraged hunters from going after them.

*Some Shriek Hawks, like Jango Fett, are from a sub-species that lose beskar qualities in their feathers even when alive if their feathers are taken without consent. However, knowledge of this quirk of their feathers is limited, and after the start of the Clone Wars, many hunters tried and failed to cut the wings off from living clones.

**Not in the image, but: these feathers are extensions of the wing feathers, and are therefore different from "body feathers" that take the place of human body hair. These feathers will therefore reflect the diverse colors and patterns present in their wings.

Additional Notes:

The feathers on Cody's torso are a bit difficult to see, because the colors of his feathers are close to his skin tone when not hit by light. Many other clones have far more visible feathers, like Waxer (cream) or Rex (dark blue).

If you look at bird physiology, most flying birds have rib cages that are very deep front-back (vs humans who have more horizontally wide rib cages). This is kind of needed in order to support their massive chest muscles for their wings. If I actually wanted to make it look like the Shriek Hawks could fly, I would change their rib cage shape (and probably make their arms tiny like T-Rex arms, and make their legs skinny and light like crane legs, and make their torsos and spines shorter, etc), but this would really start veering away from "humanoid," so I didn't.

Likewise, the "layered muscles" thing wouldn't work at all, they'd get in the way of each other! Really, they should have a whole additional chest for their wings. But that would kinda make them start looking like insects, and again my priority is "keep them looking hot" and less super realistic muscles, so eh. Please ignore. In the SW universe, species like Toydarians can fly too and they definitely don’t make anatomical sense, so whatever ahahahah.

After drawing the cursed plucked Cody wing, I also thought a lot about how terribly unbalanced they would be. The key that made me really think about it is to think of wings like a pair of legs stuck to your back, except they're even bigger, longer, and more muscular than your actual legs. That would not only be heavy as fuck, they'd probably constantly have back pain and be falling over backwards unless they're constantly leaning forward. Their bodies can't be too light or their wings will tip them backwards, but at the same time, their bodies can't be too heavy either or they won't be able to fly. Again this is another one of those things where we just smile and nod and move along :)

Another thing I thought about while drawing this is if they're really more bird-like than mammal-like, they really shouldn't have nipples or belly buttons, assuming they come from eggs. But I suppose the fact that I want to draw nips and buttons states that they're closer to human in that regard, which is fine, because they have interbred with humans, so it would make more sense for near-mammal to be more compatible with humans. This is the SW universe, and I expect creature categories to be more diverse than what we have on Earth anyway.

I also wanted to make another comment about the wing feathers extending onto their torsos. The non-wing "hair-like" body feathers do provide some protection, but not as much as these flatter more "feather-like" feathers that actually completely cover and hide their skin. So then you may ask, wouldn't it be better, from an evolutionary standpoint, if their bodies were also covered in feathers?

And the answer is yes, absolutely! The ancestors of our clones were once very much entirely covered in colorful feathers like that on their wings. However, going back to the history of Shriek Hawks, they're native to Mandalore and were hunted by humans. In order to survive, many of them joined the Mandalorians, thus interbreeding with humans and other non-Shriek Hawk species. Jango's ancestors also bred with Mandalorians. This is significant because it means that the Shriek Hawks relevant to this AU co-evolved with Mandalorians who, surprise surprise! wear beskar armor. Having both living beskar + beskar armor is redundant, and Shriek Hawks began to lose their heavier plumage in the areas where they would wear armor, aka their "human" parts. The only really exposed parts would have been their wings, and again, enough feathers on their backs/around their bodies to prevent hunters from attempting to hack off their wings at the root. So in many ways, how "human" our boys look is a direct result of their Mandalorian ancestry, and I think that's neat!

Kinda relatedly, you'd think that growing out hair (feathers) and facial hair (feathers) would be more protective, and sure, it would, but again the boys' buckets are already stuffed with feathers and I guess feathers rubbing on feathers is kind of uncomfortable. Usually, in combat situations they're fully armored, so it's fine (Looking at u, bald as an egg Waxer).

Also wanted to mention that I deeply contemplated just drawing Cody without undies, because I mean, again he has pubic feathers that cover his dick and all. But I wimped out LMAO!

For full context, please check out the AO3 Compilation for this AU, which not only has the images, but the fics as well!

Thanks for reading!

#TakeFlightBrothersAll #Commander Cody #Winged!Clones #wingfic #YukiPri art #Artists on Tumblr #clone troopers #Shriek Hawks #Star Wars #world building #anatomy

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sweetdreamscafe · 4 months

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Non-gif versions of the prior ask + the text included beneath them, so people unable to view the flashing images can still get roughly the same context. These images have still frames with a non-moving glitch effect, so I believe they should be all clear. Still put under a cut, just in case.

but nobody came... ?

Congrats to asksavel for finding 2/6 hidden pages on this blog! They actually found them back on Dec. 16, but I didn't wanna answer their ask until after wrapping up the Krampus stuff. Fret not, they were rewarded for their efforts with a little fanart; As will whoever the first person to find their way to the final page is. Without that last page, though....

connection error. message failed to send.

#mod post #if the glitch effect is still pragmatic even when unmoving let me know and i can swap in the still frames without it.

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author-a-holmes · 8 months

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Writing Habits Tag Gamre

Thank you for the tag @vesper-roux

RULES: Bold or color the things that you relate to and then tag some people to play.

I write: daily | most days | a few times a week | a few times a month | random

I tend to write scenes: in chronological order with no skipping | mostly in order but with some filler/skipping | whatever scene I feel like | who knows what’s gonna come out

When I take a break from writing, it usually lasts: a few days | a few weeks | a few months | it’s kind of random

Tagging Forward, with no pressure to: @cwritesfiction, @theunboundwriter, @arigalefantasynovels, @acertainmoshke, @avrablake, @shellyscribbles, and consider this an open tag too.

Blank version beneath the cut <3

I write: daily | most days | a few times a week | a few times a month | random

I tend to write scenes: in chronological order with no skipping | mostly in order but with some filler/skipping | whatever scene I feel like | who knows what’s gonna come out

When I take a break from writing, it usually lasts: a few days | a few weeks | a few months | it’s kind of random

#Tag Game #Writing Habits Tag Game #Ari Speaks #Arista Speaks #My Writing Habits #Friends #Mutuals #Writeblr #Writeblr Community #Writing #Writing Community

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strawberry-barista · 9 months

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A quick and dirty RP policy guide

Bold all that apply to you and your blog. Italics if you’re on the fence about something. Either reblog or repost. Feel free to add anything I may have missed in the appropriate category, or recategorize something that is in the wrong place!

My blog is _______

Open to all

Semi-selective

Selective

Moderately Selective

Highly selective

Exclusive

Only going to RP with mutuals

Mostly going to RP with mutuals

Indie

Affiliated with a group

Spoilers free

Spoilers tagged

Spoilers mostly tagged

Not spoiler free

I will RP with ______

Any fandom

Most fandoms

Only fandoms I know (It's nice to have some info going in, but I can try to work with my own limited research ability.)

Only people in my fandom

OCs

OCs with no fandom ties

OCs who are related to/know my character in their backstory (If you wanna talk something over with me, I'll be happy to try and work that out!)

Only one version of any particular character

People who have the same muse as me

People who do not have a rules page

Multimuse blogs

People in RP groups

Indie RPers

When RPing, I like to use _______

Paragraphs

Shorter forms of text

*Action*

Icons

Gifs (some of his irl fc stuff uses gifs, so that'll come up occasionally)

Gif icons

Formatted text

Whatever my partner is using (I try to mactch the style of icons you're using, e.g. irl fc icons for a partner using an irl fc)

My own style regardless of my partner’s reply

I will ship with _______

No one

Anyone

Chemistry

Select ships

OCs

Others of my own muse

Crossovers with characters from different fandoms

Only one version of a particular character

One person in my main verse

Multiship, all ships independent of each other & main ship

One main/canon ship within my main verse (if he ever gets to that point with someone and clicks really well I might make it canon, but I'll still multiship non-canon ships.)

My blog WILL contain ______ in it’s content

Fluff

Light fluff

Angst

Gore

Violence

Smut (I might one day get to a point where I'm comfortable adding this cut, but so far this has not happened.)

Blood

Torture

Shipping

Death

Dark humor

Cheating

Assault

I will follow ______ back

Everyone

Only some people

Most people

Only people in my fandom

Every RP blog

Only people I actively wish to RP with

People who do not post a lot of OOC

People whose posts I am comfortable with on my dashboard

To RP with me, you should _______

Follow back

Answer an open

Message me OOC

Message me IC

Make me a starter

Answer my starter

Send in a meme

Like a starter call

Other:

I practice reblog karma with memes

I expect reblog karma with memes

I expect my rules/about to be read

I always read the rules/about before following/interacting

If you follow me, I would like suicide and assault tagged

I expect all smut to be beneath a read-more

I am a multiverse blog

I am multi-muse

I do not wish for my OOC posts to be reblogged

I do not wish for my threads to be reblogged by those not involved

I expect post length to be matched (I don't expect length so much as just expect to get something I can reply to.)

I expect icons/gifs to be used in a reply if I have used them

I don’t expect post length to be matched, but I will try to match your own.

I am patient when waiting for replies and expect the same courtesy. (For reference, I have waited over a year for a reply before, and then just continued like nothing happened. ✌️)

#anonymity annoying me ⤙ooc⤚⚄#wise and very well organized ⤙psa⤚⚄#that's how the connection works ⤙rules⤚⚄#read by someone taken as a good one ⤙dash⤚⚄

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twineslip66 · 2 years

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Advanced Minecraft Server

It's important to note that we didn't explicitly "test" the web hosting provider options on this list. Allow the server to attach, then click on it and choose “Join Server” when it seems within the list. “Add Server” needs to be selected. Multiplayer mode enables you to share the world. Servers are the muse of the multiplayer mode in “Minecraft.” Everyone who wants to play collectively should be on the same server. With millions of customers, the simple but inexhaustible game “Minecraft” is easy to locate people to play with. Bank of Melbourne and Westpac had been also reported to be unavailable to users, as well as banks in New Zealand. Properly it didn’t just take long for me to cut back the cost of shopping for games for my PSP, in reality, now I get all my PSP video games at no cost. Some will value money but they are going to be extra dependable. In nowadays you possibly can obtain completely different sorts of sport online as this is the way in which, which is accessible at freed from price in many of the instances.

Your server is theoretically prepared to start out immediately, and you’ll discover just a few new information, together with the “server.properties” file, which lets you customise your sport. You’ll notice some new files, including a “eula.txt” doc (brief for “End User License Agreement”). You’ll also must download the Java SE Development Equipment if you’re utilizing a Mac. You can suspect totally different programming languages as the rationale to blame, as we discussed in our Minecraft Java vs Bedrock comparison. As soon as logged in, the sport is ready to use the launcher to obtain the sport (much like how Java Version works on Laptop) and then uses the customized-developed wrapper to run the Java utility, with modifications, on Quest. This works finest in case your group of associates live close by like in the next apartment or use the identical ethernet connection. It is a fun way to move the time and has different modes to play in, like Zen, the place there isn't any bombs, but it's timed. See in the event you prefer it. Mpservers may see giraffes strolling round within the greener area, or just spot seagulls flying away. Player Studio is a superb addition to the SOE titles, and it is good to see gamers regain the power to make a lasting contribution to their world.

Our kids aren't going to be traumatized by slightly hazard, and it truly offers a nice problem in the type of journey (one thing that is largely lacking from kid-MMOs). You possibly can be part of a Public Server by following Content Creators on Youtube or going on Discord Servers. Discover and obtain the Minecraft server software on the next page, and reserve it somewhere you could find it. Save the document beneath the title, “start.txt”. Copy and paste the command string into your begin.txt doc. A black command prompt window will seem, which can close after the.bat program is full. To take action you'll be able to open the command prompt by typing “cmd” in your PC’s Begin Menu. Within the pause menu click on on the “Open to LAN” possibility. Select “New,” then “Text Document” from the context menu when proper-clicking on the folder. Then click Be a part of World. Here, click on on the “Browse” button to pick out your download PNG pores and skin file. Alternatively, you can even go back to the second step of downloading skins and click on the “Upload to Minecraft” button. You'll be able to simply be part of back. The additional advantage right here is you can make your Private Server into a Public Server for those who choose so.

Non-public Servers are hosted by either you or a good friend of yours where only your pals will likely be on the server. The principle disadvantage is that you’ll be sharing these servers with a lot of strangers. Many server experiences and minigames are utterly free, but if you wish to unlock particular events or video games, exhibit with distinctive skins or chat aptitude, or unlock some surprise content with thriller bins, you’ll need a handful of Minecraft Coins. Enter the Be part of Code for the world you need to affix by clicking on each image in order. ” in the line of code. With heavy configuration settings, the Misplaced Cities mod is a enjoyable solution to play Minecraft in a whole new light. The best way you are able to do it is by having a Public Server, Non-public Server, and LAN Server. To join a non-public Server is identical as to join a Public Server.

#Multiplayer servers #MPSERVERS

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ambereyesandwine · 3 years

Text

Interested

An EraserMic x Reader Smut One Shot

Notes/ Warnings: Established relationship with Shouta, Threesome, Oral (female receiving), Quirk Kink, Double penetration, anal, Fem reader, non-consensual recording of sex, unprotected sex, cumming inside, it’s soft at the end.

WC: 3139

Beta’d By: @teaspacebar as always

Hizashi sat down at his desk, his students having just left for the day, and found a small tape tucked neatly into the top drawer of his desk. He turned it over and found it labeled ‘Interested?’ in a familiar scrawl. He shrugged and popped it into his player, sliding his headphones over his ears as he hit play. It was normal for his best friend to give him music to review this way, so he figured he’d listen as he graded. That was until he heard a soft rhythm of moans coming through his headset. He squinted, confusion taking over his features as he heard his best friend speak.

“I heard you and Midnight in the lounge today.”

The moans stopped.

“The conversation about who you’d want to be with if you weren’t mine.”

Your voice was the next to come through. “Shouta, we were just-”

“I know,” Hizashi listened intently as Shouta cut you off, “I’m not upset,” he reassured. “I’m interested.”

“What do you-” your question died in your throat and was quickly replaced with a groan of approval.

“You said you were curious about how he’d use his quirk.”

The blonde waited on baited breath for your response to his best friend’s statement.

“Use your words.” Shouta instructed.

“You- ah-” a gasp escaped you, and your response was forced between heaving breaths, “Yes! Yes.”

Shouta’s voice dropped considerably in tone, “Say his name for me, Kitten.”

“Hizashi.”

The word was short and barely audible, but it froze the man in his seat and he held his breath, waiting to see if you’d say his name again.

Shouta tsked, “Say it like he can hear you.”

“Hizashi.” This time it came as a moan dripping with need.

The hero’s breath escaped him in a lustful groan, and he was suddenly very aware of the erection his pants were struggling to contain.

“Shouta… please,” you sounded desperate, and Hizashi found himself whimpering at his desk, wanting to be the reason for the sounds you were making.

“Tell me how you want him to fuck you.” He punctuated the sentence with a grunt.

“I- fuck,” The word was drawn out and pornographic. “I want him to eat me out until I’m cumming on his tongue, and-” Your sentence was cut off by a sharp inhale. “Then I want him inside me. Hard, and-” Another gasp, “Faster.” You mewled, tone rising in pitch.

Hizashi listened as Shouta’s breathing mixed sinfully with yours. His heart was pounding out of his chest and he shifted in his seat, trying in vain to relive the pressure in his groin.

“That’s it, Kitten. Just a little more.”

“Please, I’m gonna-”

“Say his name while you cum for me.”

Hizashi’s eyes fluttered shut and his lungs strained to take in the air he needed when the recorded version of you yelled his name as you climaxed.

It was a moment of silence later when Shouta spoke again. “Good girl,” He cooed, “Get some rest.”

The man sitting at his desk heard you give an appreciative hum before the sound clicked off. He reached for his phone to text Aizawa, “Very.”

You stood in the shower with your eyes closed, letting the hot water run over your skin. You sighed as the stress of the day melted away. The plan had been to wait for your boyfriend to get home, but he’d taken too long to arrive, so you’d gotten in without him. He’d probably join you when he got home anyway.

As if on cue, you heard the bathroom door click open and Shouta called out to you. “Y/n? I’m sorry I’m late, but I have a surprise. Eyes closed,” He commanded.

You shook your head with a smile; he always made it up to you when he was late. “They are.”

You heard the shower curtain pull back and felt him slide in behind you. He gripped your hips and planted small kisses over your neck and shoulders. You hummed sweetly and pushed your hips into him, feeling his erection press into the small of your back. You heard him drag a breath between his teeth when you ground your ass against him, and you chuckled slightly. “Shouta, this is nice, but it’s not really a surprise.”

“Isn’t it though?” His voice came distinctly from in front of you. You froze and your eyes shot open to look your boyfriend, naked in all his glory, dead in the eye. Your heart raced and your stomach found a home in your throat until you heard the man behind you speak.

The words brushed against the shell of your ear as the man pressed himself against you. “Hey, Princess.”

Oh fuck. Hizashi had used the nickname before but never like that. His tone never sounded like he was ready to eat you alive. Every ounce of air in your body left you in a groan when Hizashi pinched at one of your peaked nipples. Your hand landed on top of his where he still gripped your hip and pulled up his fingers to interlock them with yours. You dragged his hand to hover at the top of your thighs.

You felt Hizashi stop for a moment, and your question of why was answered when you saw Shouta nod. Having been given the approval he needed, the blonde’s fingers dipped between your legs and made quick work of finding your clit. You moaned, back arching off Hizashi’s chest as he drew careful circles around the bud of nerves. You gripped his forearm like your life depended on it and tilted your head to the side to give him more space for the love bites he was leaving.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispered the compliment into your neck and placed a kiss in the same spot, like he was sealing it into your skin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted this. To hear you make these sounds for me.”

His words made you whimper, and you relaxed into his chest as he continued to touch you.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and Shouta is a very lucky man.”

That made you turn to face him. You searched the lime-green eyes in front of you for only a moment before you kissed him.

“Y/n,” He breathed your name like a prayer into your mouth as he wrapped his arms around you. You poured every ounce of love you held for him into that kiss and you hoped he could feel it. The kiss broke when you felt Shouta press against your back, and having seen his opportunity, your boyfriend took Hizashi’s chin in his hand and pulled him into a deep kiss over your shoulder. The blonde moaned and you felt each of them twitch with need.

“Bedroom. Now.” Were the first words out of Shouta’s mouth when he pulled back and the three of you quickly made your way across the hall. Shouta sat down near the edge of your bed first and patted the sheets in front of him, which you knew was a signal for you. You sat with your back to him and felt him slide closer, hands reaching your knees and slowly parting your legs as Hizashi watched. “Hizashi is going to show you how he can use his quirk, if you’re good for him.”

Your breathing picked up speed and both men noticed, giving each other a sly smile before Hizashi knelt before you.

“Say my name, Princess.” The blonde planted kisses on the insides of your thighs, slowly getting closer to your core.

You started to squirm, so Shouta reached down to hold your hips in place. “Hold still, Kitten.” He kissed your temple before looking to Hizashi with lust-blown eyes.

You watched as the man before you shifted his gaze from your boyfriend to you before he spoke again. “Say my name.”

“Hizashi,” You responded in a sultry tone.

He hummed in approval and licked a stripe up your folds before delving into your cunt with his tongue.

“Fuck!” Your hand instinctively reached for him, fingers threading through his hair and pulling.

He backed away. “Woah, Princess, careful. You’re gonna get me all riled up.”

“Zashi, please,” You begged.

The blonde returned to his place between your legs and alternated between penetrating you with his tongue and circling your clit as he pushed you closer to the edge. You rode his face, grinding into him with small pleasured moans, until he started to hum. You gasped, back arching away from Shouta’s chest as he continued to hold your hips in place. When your orgasm came out of nowhere, you cried Hizashi’s name, and heard Shouta moan behind you. Hizashi worked you through it, slowing down until you stopped shaking before he withdrew. Shouta reached for the blonde and pulled him in for a kiss, tasting you in the other man’s mouth.

The two worked in tandem to move you up the bed and Shouta immediately had you pinned beneath him. “Are you going to be good for us, kitten?”

“Yes.”

His hand wrapped around you throat, “Yes, what?”

“Ah-” You choked on your reply for a second before you could form the words in your mind. “Yes, sir.”

“Mmm,” He hummed appreciatively, stroking your jaw lightly with his thumb. “Good girl.” Shouta leaned down and captured your lips in a heated kiss and he lingered, hovering only inches from you face when he finally broke the contact. He searched your eyes for a moment, all dominance and lust aside, and whispered the question, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

You smiled at him softly and slipped one of your hands from his loosened grip to touch his cheek. “Yes, Shou, I’m sure.” You turned to look at Hizashi and found the same question in the blonde’s eyes. You reached for your best friend and pulled him into you to kiss him deeply. “I’m sure,” You whispered into his mouth.

Hizashi’s arms snaked around your back and hips and pulled you as close to him as he could get you, before he rolled you onto your back. You giggled as he peppered kisses over your face and worked his way down to your neck. A small gasp escaped you when Hizashi nipped the pulse point beneath your jaw and you ground your hips up into his.

“Zashi-” Your moan was cut off by another kiss.

His hands traced paths up and down your sides, and his mouth found your tit, sucking and rolling his tongue over your peaked nipple. The moans he drew from you were only fuel, and when you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, he released a throaty groan. “What do you need from me, Princess?”

“Fuck me,” There was no hesitation in your answer. “Please, Hizashi, I need you.”

“Oh, baby girl,” He murmured into your temple, “How the hell did I wait this long for you?” He slid a hand down to line himself up and you felt him press against your entrance. Your head tilted back, and you inhaled deeply as you felt him slowly slide into your dripping core. “Fuck,” the word was breathy and barely audible as Hizashi hung his head, taking in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

You placed your hand on the side his face to draw his attention and when he made eye contact, you kissed him. He hummed when you bit his lip and you smiled up at him, searching his lust blown eyes for any sign of hesitation. You found none.

“Hizashi,” The word came from where Shouta sat on the bed and you both looked to your boyfriend, slowly stroking himself. “Move.”

Hizashi rolled his hips once, slowly, and an explicit moan escaped from both of you before he pulled almost all the way out of you. The blonde snapped his hips forward and set a pace that had you whimpering and clawing at his back.

“Make those pretty sounds for me, sweetheart,” His thrusts were pushing you closer to the edge again. “You look so beautiful like this, God, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Your words were cut off by Hizashi going still inside you and being yanked back by the roots of his hair. Shouta stared at the blonde, chest heaving and hand still wrapped in his best friend’s hair. There was a moment of silence in which no one moved before Shouta crashed his lips into Hizashi’s.

“Shou, I-” Hizashi started.

“I know,” The man’s words were pressed between urgent kisses.

“Thank God.”

Shouta pulled away from the kiss and pushed Hizashi slowly to the side, which the blonde took as a signal to get off of you and lay on his back. “Y/n,” Your boyfriend curled his finger in the ‘come here’ motion and you obeyed, perching in front of him on your knees. He pulled you in by the back of your neck to kiss you, moaning when you pressed your hips into his. “You think you can take both of us, Kitten?”

A groan fell from your lips as heat pooled in your core. “Please.”

“Good girl.” He nodded toward Hizashi’s form laying behind you and watched carefully as you moved to straddle his best friend’s hips. He reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out the small bottle of lube you kept there. It wasn’t the first time Shouta would be buried balls-deep in your ass.

“Y/n,” Hizashi’s tone was strained when he said your name, but you continued to slowly stroke him as you lifted your hips. “Princess, please, just let me feel you,” He begged as his grip tightened on your hips, trying to pull you to him.

You lined him up and slowly sank onto him. A soft and breathy moan escaped you when you felt the stretch return as his length slid into you. You sat still for a moment before you felt a hand press against your back, and you leaned forward as Shouta applied pressure to push you. The closeness of you face to Hizashi’s gave you the perfect opportunity to kiss him again as you heard the bottle click open behind you. You didn’t break contact with the blonde’s lips until you gasped, feeling two of Shouta’s fingers press into your ass, covered in the cool liquid. “Fuck,” You drew the word out.

“Shouta,” The blonde spoke, his tone dripping with need, “I can feel you.”

“Mmhmm, we’re almost there,” he replied.

“Ah!” You shook as Shouta spread his fingers, prepping you for his cock. You relaxed slightly when he withdrew his fingers, but your muscles tensed again when you felt him press against your hole.

Hizashi’s eyes focused over your shoulder for a moment before he looked to you, seriousness in his eyes, “Ready?”

“Yes,” The word was clipped with a sharp inhale as Shouta began to slide inside you.

“Oh,” Hizashi let out a choked moan, “Sweetheart, relax, I’m not going to last if you keep squeezing me like that.”

When Shouta bottomed out in your ass, he bent over to kiss your shoulder gently and whispered, “You okay, Kitten?”

“I’m okay,” your tone was shaky, the pressure in your abdomen building, even with the two of them sitting still.

“Good girl.”

You saw Hizashi’s gaze focus behind you again and he nodded before both of them pulled out and snapped their hips forward at the same time. You screamed in pleasure and the men set an unforgiving rhythm of pounding into you as you did everything you could not to let your arms give out. You felt hands playing with your tits, pulling at your hips and ass, and the coil in your core getting tighter. Their pace was relentless, and you found yourself unable to focus on anything except how they felt, buried inside you and fucking you into oblivion as you chanted their names like a prayer.

“I’m- fuck- I’m close,” You barely managed the words as you felt each of their thrusts start to faulter.

“Us too, Kitten,” Shouta could hardly speak between his moans, “Just a little more.”

“She’s clamping down, I can’t-”

You screamed when your orgasm crashed over you, walls contracting around the men inside you as they continued to fuck into you.

“I’m cumming,” The man below you warned as he tried to lift your hips to pull out of you. You had enough of your mind still to force your hips down onto his and you felt him fill you with cum as your boyfriend’s thrusts became erratic. Shouta rammed his cock into you one last time and came, filling your ass with semen too.

For a moment the three of you were still, but your arms began to shake, and Hizashi noticed.

“Come here, Princess,” He pulled your arms from under you and supported you as he gently lowered you into his chest to hold you. “Are you okay?”

Your voice was blissful and tired when you replied, “Yes.” You felt the blonde press a kiss to your temple and rub your back as he held you. He brushed a strand of hair out of your face and you asked, “How do you feel?”

He smiled softly, “Really good, Sweetheart. I’m really good.”

It was then that you felt Shouta finally pull out of you. He left the room and came back a few moments later. Hizashi pulled out of you and you felt a damp cloth press between your thighs. You hummed appreciatively as your boyfriend cleaned you up as he always did, and you heard Hizashi hiss from overstimulation when Shouta moved to clean him up too.

“Thank you, Shou,” Your words were soft as you started to let your tiredness take over.

“Mmhmm,” He responded and kissed your forehead before leaving the room again.

Your eyelids grew heavier with each blink, and the last thing you remembered was feeling your boyfriend slide into bed before you fell asleep.

You woke up in what must have been the small hours of the morning, given that the sky was still dark. Hizashi was curled into you, with his arms wrapped around your waist and his head nestled into your chest. You moved to run your fingers through his hair, and he snuggled ever closer before his breathing returned to his light snore. You looked down to the foot of the bed and found your legs comfortably tangled with the men’s as they slept, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Shouta?” You whispered and looked up to find your boyfriend was already watching you with warm eyes from his place snuggled into Hizashi’s back. “Can we keep him?”

The man gave an amused exhale, “That’s funny, I was just going to ask if you were interested.”

#Smut #Erasermic smut #erasermic x Reader #my hero academia #My hero academia smut #BNHA #MHA #Shouta Aizawa #Hizashi Yamada #Eraserhead #Present Mic

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kiribakuficrecs · 3 years

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hello!!! im going on a very long trip at the end of april and I'm looking for some very long fics to download to keep me entertained! i dont care what they're about as long as there's no major character death or mentions of non-con. ur blog is a godsend ilysm and you do such a good job thank you so much 🙏

hi there!! i definitely have a lot of good lengthy fics i can recommend to you!

quote love unquote by newamsterdam

Sero nods. “It’s the chance of a lifetime, really,” he says. “We want you to date Bakugou, for the sake of his reputation with the press. Some public appearances, a few ‘candid’ photos. For at least a couple of months.”

“Bakugou sent you to ask me to date him?” Kirishima asks, baffled.

“Of course not. We, his people, are asking you to date him. He’s going to have to get on board, if he wants his career to survive. And in the bargain, Riot will get all sorts of publicity, because their lyricist will be dating one of the industry’s hottest stars. A win for everyone.”

When Kirishima Eijirou's band hits the big time, he's not prepared for his newfound fame. He's even less prepared to meet the actor he's been crushing on for years, or to start dating him as a publicity stunt. The closer Kirishima gets to Bakugou Katsuki, the more he realizes he's in over his head. But it's hard to stop, once his heart is in it.

acceptance and denial by poteto

It all goes okay when Kirishima decides to come out to his friends and it all goes wrong when decides that Bakugou is the best fake boyfriend material.

cause the darks not taking prisoners tonight by imatrisarahtops

“Are those soba noodles?” Kirishima asked.

Again Bakugou’s only reply was a grunt. He offered no further explanation—not that Kirishima honestly expected one—as though making soba noodles from scratch at half past four in the morning wasn’t at all a bizarre occurrence and made complete and total sense. For a fleeting moment, Kirishima even wondered if maybe he was the odd one here. Besides, he’d already decided it was generally not in his best interest to question these types of things with Bakugou, especially when it was something essentially harmless.

When Kirishima has a nightmare and is unable to fall back asleep, he accepts defeat and decides to study in the common area of the dorms. What he doesn't expect to find is Bakugou, also very much awake, and Kirishima can't help but think that maybe they're both having the same problems with sleeping. If he's worried, it's just because they're friends. (Right?)

the weight of your hand by kamin

That night, to the citizens, the explosions were a jolt of fear at every blast, but to the heroes and the students of UA, they were punches and swings, fierce fighting and loud strength. The explosions were the pulse of the battle, and the power of a boy that would never back down.

One after another, explosions set a chorus through the shuddering city.

And then, suddenly—the explosions stopped.

(In which Bakugou’s kidnapping goes a little differently, and just a few seconds could change so much.)

so take my hand (your life will be brighter) by multiclassmaps

When a stranger shows up at the ice rink during Bakugou's usually private training sessions, Bakugou expects to hate him. He doesn't expect to develop feelings that become increasingly difficult to deny, or for them to help each other sort through their emotional baggage. - Bakugou really didn't like Kirishima's smile. There was something about it that made his stomach hurt, something about it that made it difficult to focus. He definitely hadn't thought about that smile on his way to the ice rink that day. He definitely hadn't.

distance makes the heart grow fonder (false) by dragontrappedinhumanskin

When Bakugo and Kirishima get hit by a quirk that forces them to literally stick together or face the less then desirable consequences, how the fuck is Bakugo supposed to keep his crush hidden?! Well, turns out he never needed to.

-- “Well, this fucking sucks, how are we supposed to train?!” "Really closely?"

perihelion by tauontauoff

Bakugou was a comet, blazing out of reach. Kirishima knew he was stupidly lucky that his furious trajectory went by close enough that his fingertips got to graze the cowl of fire. It was enough.

During Christmas Class 1A and 1B spend a laid-back week learning about extreme environment hero work in the Alps. Kirishima was used to keeping part of his feelings for Bakugou hidden, and had every intention of keeping it that way, but things don't always go according to plan.

fight me by mr_todoroki

Bright red, spiky hair. Annoyingly bright smile. Clothes that radiate ‘look at me’ vibes. Neon yellow tank top with black shorts. And those were definitely crocs on his fucking feet.

Yeah, Katsuki hated this guy.

Bakugou gets a new roommate.

quietly by chezka

“We’ve been taking the same way to and from school for weeks,” Kirishima grinned, and then when Bakugou frowned at him he put on an affected pout, tilted his head so that he was looking at him through his thick, long lashes, “you never noticed? Am I that easy to miss?”

He could barely finish the sentence before a laugh escaped his lips, and Bakugou rolled his eyes, hit him with a shoulder a little more violently than necessary.

“You stick out like a sore thumb, broom-head,” he grumbled, promptly ignoring Kirishima's whining about his hairstyle when it started coming, “I didn’t notice ‘cause I didn’t care.”

“And now you do?”

everyone knows that cats are independent by purplepersnickety

Eijirou enjoys his job, working the graveyard shift at a 24/7 coffee shop. His daemon Riot is always there to keep him company, and he likes meeting the early-morning patrons and giving them the best possible kick-start to their day. It's been his routine for about a year now.

Then one day, a grouchy guy with a daemon in the form of a lion walks into the shop in the dead of night, and Eijirou decides to strike up a conversation with him.

punks not dead by wrunic

“So you want to use me to piss off your mom?” Kirishima summarized, raising one pierced eyebrow at Katsuki.

“Look, if you want to be all fucking judgy about it, I take cash,” Katsuki said, dropping his hand palm up on the table.

“Hey now,” Kirishima said, raising his hands in surrender, “I didn’t say I wasn’t doing it. I’m always down for a little chaos.” He flashed a grin, showing off his ridiculous shark teeth.

“Good,” Katsuki said. “We start tomorrow."

sent, delivered, read, loved by kiribakuhappiness

Kirishima E. [6.49pm]: ur okay for such an angry dude bakugou! :)

Bakugou K. [7.12pm]: FUCK YOU!

Kirishima E. [7.14pm]: haha! :D ttyl!

Bakugou K. [7.48pm]: FUCKING WHAT DO THOSE DUMB LETTERS MEAN???

Bakugou K. [7.52pm]: I JUST LOOKED IT UP DONT FUCKING TALK TO ME LATER!

Bakugou K. [7.52pm]: STOP TXTING ME!!!

- OR -

Bakugou's and Kirishima's relationship develops from classmates to friends to more, as told through their text conversations.

flicker by mr_todoroki

He was starting to feel depressed. Life was so uninteresting. It was so mundane and forgettable. He had no one to hang out with besides Kota, his family didn’t even live in the city.

He grew his hair out as some sort of rebellion, some sort of stand to make his life the slightest bit more interesting. But he could already feel himself giving in to the pressure of cutting it. He needed to work to live. Without a job, he’d truly have nothing.

Kirishima never applied to UA, therefore never became a hero.

let’s get down to business by kjelfalconer

Katsuki Bakugou, one of the brightest rising stars on wall street, is in need of a new personal assistant. Again. Could Eijirou Kirishima finally be the one to last more than two months?

Katsuki's long suffering HR department sure hope so.

something about us by bigstupidjellyfish

nothing like being in highschool and having no idea how to deal with emotions

fireproof by inkbender

Four years after a classmate nobody seems to remember is kidnapped by the League of Villains, Kirishima drags an amnesiac hobo he found washed up on the beach into his apartment, attempts to teach him how to adult (with varying degrees of success), and discovers along the way that the line between heroism and villainy is quite fine indeed. Plot-divergent after episode 45, the Forest Training Camp arc.

blood riot by magicallee (alternatively)

Kirishima from a universe with no quirks is mind-swapped with an alternate universe version of himself where there are superpowers.

And in that universe he’s a super villain.

And Bakugou is the superhero who caught Evil-Kirishima and put him in prison.

blindside by drowclericpelor

“You’re the first guy friend I’ve had that I can just like, be friends with. You’re either the most unthirstiest boy ever...” Camie shrugged and made another wobbly illusion appear between her hands. It looked like a sparkly rainbow with the word ‘friendship’ beneath it, accompanied by what Bakugou assumed was supposed to be a twinkling sound effect, but it had a tinny quality to it and sounded far away. “...or I just ain’t got the kinda straw you like to ssssip.”

Carefully, Bakugou considered the strange turn this conversation had taken.

He had never been asked, point blank, if he was gay before. And he honestly had never thought about how he would respond. Lying about himself didn’t sit right with him. But he’d always wanted to wait until he was the number one hero - when he stood above everyone else - before coming out. Though he’d had times when he’d thought about doing it before then and had almost gone through with it once. But being the number one hero came first. It wouldn’t matter what people would say about it then as long as he’d risen to the top.

Bakugou knew his lack of a response would give Camie all the answers she needed.

flour power by wingsonghalo

“I’m telling you now, Shitty Hair,” the blonde growled, “I am not gonna play house with you. We will cart this stupid flour around for a week like the assignment says. But some of our idiot classmates are naming the thing and setting up ‘playdates’ and dressing it and I am not doing anything that stupid. Got it?”

Kirishima and Bakugou are paired up to take care of a flour sack for a week. It would be so simple, except nothing with Bakugou is ever simple. Also Kirishima might be kinda sorta completely head over heels for him.

sunchaser by chonideno

that feeling when you suddenly want to jump off a cliff for no reason but instead of a cliff it’s your best friend and instead of jumping it’s growing feelings out of nowhere

or how Bakugou has to try really hard not to throw everything to the wind, and Kirishima doesn't help

i also have a tag specifically for fics that reach somewhere between 30k-70k words long if you wanted to check that out as well! i hope you enjoy the fics here and that i was able to help, ily enjoy your trip!!! :D

#kiribaku fic rec #kiribaku #answered

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op-peccatori · 4 years

Text

Hopefully, Yours (part 1) | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 8823

Summary: A fight between co-stars leads to you taking their place, along with the man you’ve been carrying a rather fervid torch for. A happy accident—except it’s a dating show and you have to pretend your feelings aren’t real. | Part 2

Warnings/Tags: language, fluff, oblivious behaviour, dating show, social media, Victor might be a little OOC because I’ve written him differently, some making out in the next part hence the rating, no smut though, my sense of humour

A/n: as always, I’m here to clown around. I tried something a lil new (for me) in this one 👉👈 something I picked up quite recently from works I adored, so I hope you like it! It got longer than I intended so I had to split it into 2 parts ;.; Victor said: keep writing, hoe.

ALSO!!! Yours by Ella Henderson is. THE Victor/MC song for me. I felt it in my bones when I listened to it again after all these years. brb crying

It’s the incessant buzzing of your phone that lures you out of the warm cocoon of your blanket.

You don’t really want to come out of your haven. Not after the week you’ve had, and because you know what awaits you. But as Anna had told you, there’s no way you can avoid this. They had finished editing the episode on Thursday, and Jason had already texted you last night to let you know it would be ready to be uploaded at 7:00 pm today.

Reaching listlessly for your phone, you squint at the bright screen through bleary eyes; it’s 9:00 pm already, and you’ve managed to sleep most of your Sunday away. It’s been a whole week since you filmed the episode, and while you were able to keep your thoughts at bay through it, it’s finally caught up to you.

After all, this is the episode you’re going to be in.

Pulling your laptop towards you, you open the tab that has the streaming site open. Your heart begins its anxious thump against its cage, a beat all too familiar to you by now. As the video begins playing, the memories of that day rise up to the forefront of your mind, refusing to be outdone by this meticulously edited version.

It started with a plan. A very well-thought-out plan.

“He called me a bitch. How can you still expect me to shoot with this jerk?”

Things were not going according to the very well-thought-out plan.

From your place next to Homer, the camera guy, you watched with mounting apprehension as Hollow resisted the AD’s attempts to placate her. But she did seem calmer, the scalding rage of her glare simmering down as he continued to reason with her.

And then her partner for the episode walked back onto the set.

“She said my songs are predictable! You want me to work with a hater?” Kai protested loudly, and Hollow turned back to him in a fury. The AD looked back at you in dismay, the rest of the staff watching with varying levels of exasperation.

“This is supposed to be a cheesy, ultra-romantic show,” Kiki whispered from her place at your side.

“This is what the reality is. All that sappy crap is for the camera,” Willow snorted, shaking her head in disenchanted disappointment.

There may be more than a kernel of truth in that. Hopefully, Yours was your company’s latest project; the second season, the first one having been produced by a different group. It’s a romantic web-series that featured different couples going on dates around town. The couples featured ranged from non-celebrities to people who are household names. So far, there hadn’t been too many issues with the participants—so you really should have expected this.

“Not always!” you cut in, fiddling nervously with your planner. “Some of the couples have gone on to date for real. Raymond and Liliana got married!” A lovely couple from an episode that aired last year. They’d been in the news recently too.

“They’re getting divorced,” Homer piped up in response. You hoped the look on your face let him know how unhelpful that was and turned back to the clashing couple. The AD looked harrowed and harassed as things turn increasingly hostile.

“Willow, do we have a backup couple?” you asked after a long moment of watching them spit insults. “Or just one person to replace either of them. What about Carlson?”

“He won’t be in town until tomorrow.”

‘Can I leave town?’ You wondered in a fit of desperate, wishful thinking.

“And we’ve got everyone here, with everything set up. Can we really waste time?” Kiki wondered out loud.

“No, we can’t,” answered a strained voice from behind you. All four of you turn to see Anna striding towards you, her hassled expression sending a frisson of worry through your stomach. “___, we’ve got guests.”

“Guests?” you repeated numbly. “What guests?” From the look on her face, it couldn’t be good news.

Anna held your gaze for a second, looking vaguely apologetic, before stepping to the side, allowing you to get a look at who Jason, the director, had rushed off to greet. You felt the ground shift beneath you, throat drying rapidly and the surrounding noise dimming as you focused on the new arrivals—your friend, your boss if you insist on the technicalities, and the star of most of your daydreams. LFG’s very own CEO, Victor, and his loyal secretary, Goldman.

In other words, people you hadn’t expected to see today.

“Why?” you whimpered, mostly panicked, but distantly amused by how enthusiastically he’s being greeted. It gave you a few moments to get it together, a familiar buzz coming to life underneath your skin.

This is terrible. Surely, this is karmic retribution for some misdeed committed by you.

“Boss, get it together,” Kiki hissed in an echo of your thoughts, and you realized you had half-fallen back into her and Willow’s arms, their hands steady on your shoulders.

“This is really bad timing. Like, really bad,” Willow pointed out unnecessarily as you straightened up, running a quick hand through your hair.

“Goldman said they just dropped in to see how it’s coming along. I don’t really understand why, this is not at all Victor’s cup of tea, but he’d been hesitant about the show, so...” With a sympathetic smile, Anna placed a hand on your elbow, squeezing lightly. The comfort it brought is chased away almost immediately by a furious screech.

“That is it. I’m done!”

Turning just in time to watch Hollow stalk off the set, you tried to restart your thought process. You just needed to solve this.

“How do we solve this?” Kiki asked in a low voice, and Willow shook her head helplessly.

With no answer for her, you could only watch as Jason led Victor and Goldman towards the set. You knew the exact moment he saw you; there was no smile, but a slow blink. It was still early in the afternoon, and his patrician features were alight with a soft glow in the golden sunlight, the curve of his lip relaxed and his clever gaze taking in you and everything happening around you in seconds. You’re not sure what he saw in your face but it made the corners of his mouth pull downwards.

Your stomach plummeted, seized by a sudden urge to flee.

But with his long strides, he reached you before you could take a step back. Kiki and Willow retreated silently, greeting him like newly registered soldiers coming face to face with their general and leaving you at his mercy. You would have felt miffed, but the way the sunlight softened his features was a little distracting. His lips moved, and you’re certain he said something, but couldn’t quite hear him over the sound of your heart drumming in your ears.

Homer coughed loudly, popping the bubble.

“Good morning, Victor!” Certain your lack of actual delight was obvious, you tried to inject as much enthusiasm into your voice as you could while your project went up in flames behind you. Not that you weren’t happy to see him, as the sudden thrill twisting through insisted on reminding you, but the prospect of disappointing him was one you would rather not face.

There was no visible reaction from Victor, but Homer looked a bit disturbed by the attempt. Goldman just looked like he pitied you, while Jason looked oddly contemplative. This was probably his first time seeing you this…dazzled.

“Good morning,” Victor replied evenly. His eyes, a constant, focused storm and his silken hair falling artfully over his forehead form a picture so lovely, almost beyond words. It’s never stopped you from waxing poetic about them, or his long list of admirable personality traits, but he had a way of knowing when you’re not paying attention. “Looks like I picked a bad time to check in.”

You couldn’t quite pin down the inflexion in his tone, but your immediate guess was that he was either severely disappointed or was low-key mocking you.

With how quickly things derailed, it’s understandable.

“Haha,” you laughed—an unfortunate coping mechanism that seems to flare up most often in his presence. Also, because Victor looked unfairly gorgeous, as always and you were a fool with a worryingly erratic pulse. “Just a few bumps. Nothing we can’t fix.”

Behind you, Kai declared his intent to leave as well. There’s a contract, so they would have to look into this, but that would take time. At that moment, Victor was eyeing the singer leaving the set and your nervous smile with his brows steadily climbing higher.

“Right. Anything I can do to help?” he offered, and the shame that elicited is so fierce you felt like you’d shrunk. This was supposed to be a casual visit, for him to see how the filming was going and instead you made him feel the need to step in and clean up the mess.

“No,” you said, firm, immediate, vehement. He frowned down at you. “We’ll come up with something. Why don’t you two take a seat, we’ll get you some drinks and Anna can go over the ratings and numbers with you.”

Victor seemed to hesitate, still frowning at you, but relented when you mustered up a small but convincing smile for him. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything,” he insisted, because he’s nice like that, before following Goldman and Anna into the small room you’ve converted into an office. You have a small but closed set for the first meeting of the couples, before the crew moves to whatever location has been picked out for the date.

“He’s nicer than he looks,” Homer observed as the two of you watched him leave.

“He’s lovely,” you said miserably. Who would have thought there’d be a day when you said that about Victor? He was still an evil capitalist, but he’s a kind man.

Homer didn’t get the chance to reply as Jason rushed up to you.

“Okay, so we’re gonna have to sit those two down for a talk, but we don’t have time for that today. We need substitutes,” Jason said, not nearly as panicked as you would expect from a director who had no one to direct. It was admirable, this ability to keep his head even when he hits what looks like a dead end.

“I’ll make some calls.” Reaching into your pocket, your mind ram through your options as your hand closed around your phone.

“I want you to do it,” Jason declared.

It took you a few seconds to realize you hadn’t misheard. He looked back at you steadily, already resolute in his decision. You looked around, expecting protests, but the staff members only looked eager.

“…I don’t like this joke,” you said, slowly.

“Good thing it wasn’t one!” Jason returned cheerfully. “Before you turn it down, let me say—please? And don’t go off with the ‘I’m nobody!’ thing. People know who you are.”

“Um.” You really, really didn’t know what to say to him.

“My brother thinks you’re hot,” Homer offered, and Jason beamed at him.

“Okay, we’ll do this. You’re the producer of one of the oldest and most popular shows. You’ve gained more media presence over the last two years. You’re also friends with Kiro and Professor Lucien, so people have been quite curious about you for a while! This is just a fun little thing. Please?” Jason pleaded.

In the spirit of fairness, you took a minute to think about it. It would solve half the problem. And today’s location was a local fair, where the couple got to try out anything they want to, with all the expenses covered by the company. The very thought of stepping in front of the camera left your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t deny the bud of excitement that seemed to have taken root.

In the end, your stomach made the choice for you.

“If you think it’ll be fine, then sure,” you acceded, thoughts filled with stir-fried noodles and holding hands with a faceless person. “But what about the other person?”

“Hmm,” Jason looked in the direction of the office, reminding you that you don’t have all day to decide.

“I could call Gavin and ask if he’s free,” you suggested. People adore him. “Or Lucien?”

Jason nodded as if truly considering it, his gaze sharp on you. “Good choices. What about Victor?”

“Yeah, no. That is a bad idea,” you said at once, without giving it a moment’s thought. This was a dating show, where people go on cute dates and act adorable on camera. The very thought of Victor doing that at all, let alone with you…was something you couldn’t think of because it was ridiculous. And bad for your poor heart.

“It is an excellent idea,” Jason disagreed. You hated to be the bearer of bad news, but this was necessary. You’ve known Victor for a while now, and felt responsible for Jason’s well-being that would inevitably be threatened if he embarks on this particular path.

“He’d never agree to it,” you told him solemnly. The man barely agrees to do interviews; a show like this? Out of the question. “You know who he is, right? He doesn’t have time for this.”

“Why don’t you leave that to me, and go get ready. I’ll go get your man,” Jason said, loud and bright, shooing you in the direction of the dressing rooms. You stood there for another minute, dazed and afraid. What if Victor thought it was your idea?

The horror.

The terror.

“I’m still texting Lucien!” you called after him, voice pitched high in your alarm. Before you could follow Jason to make sure Victor knows you would never suggest this, an arm slid around your shoulder.

“Darling,” Arnold, the head stylist, cooed at you. “I heard the good news.”

“How?” It had been two minutes. People shouldn’t be spreading this without the director’s confirmation.

“Forget the hows. This is your time to shine. Come, we’re going to make that CEO drool,” he proclaimed, shepherding you towards the dressing rooms. “And I can finally do something about this hair!”

“He’s not going to agree.” You were absolutely certain of that, even as your mind continued to conjure cutesy images of you sharing cotton candy with the reticent man.

Taking a seat at the vanity, you reached for your phone over the cotton pads, watching Arnold’s reflection in the large mirror as he flitted about the small room, picking out different outfits. You hadn’t gotten a chance to check it for a while, and scrolled through your texts swiftly, pausing on a few in particular.

‎

Victor [9:00]: Hello. I’ve got some time off today.

Victor [9:02]: Is it alright if we drop by the set? What time is your lunch break?

Victor [9:20]: You must be busy. I spoke to Anna. I’ll see you later.

Victor [9:25]: Also, good morning.

‎

Oh.

He had actually let you know he’d be dropping in. Taciturn and domineering he may be, but Victor’s quiet consideration often left you glowing with warmth. In comparison, your own clumsiness often left you embarrassed. In this instance, it made you feel doubly determined to do this right.

‎

Y/N [12: 05]: Hi, sorry I missed these. Don’t worry, I’ll get us back on track.

‎

Closing Victor’s chat, you took a moment to consider your options before making your choice.

‎

Y/N [12:07]: Lucien! Are you free?

Lucien [12:15]: Hello. Just wrapped up a lecture. I thought you were going to be shooting today?

Y/N [12:16]: I am. Actually, I had a favour to ask.

‎

You stared down at the screen of your phone, shoulders relaxing as one of the assistants fussed with your hair. Should you wait for Jason before asking him? You knew what the outcome will be, regardless of what you wanted. You’ve always known, always kept your thoughts safe behind a barrier, never letting them spill out in Victor’s presence.

You thought back to his disappointment, and something fragile in your chest tightened.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you prayed to all the powers above that this works out.

‎

Victor [12:18]: Dummy. I’m not worried.

‎

There was a knock at the door as you opened the chat, thrown off but pleased by Victor’s confidence.

“Guys, can I come in?”

It was Jason.

With trembling fingers curling tight, you sat up straighter as he was let in. Your pulse quickens, your emotions jumbling together until your can’t tell them apart. You kept your expectations low. You knew what the answer would be. It couldn’t hurt if you expected it.

You just hoped it wouldn’t change anything. It wasn’t your idea.

“He agreed!” Jason announced with a flourish, and your heart halted its despondent march. “His secretary’s picking up his outfit, they said it won’t take too long. We’ll do his hair and mak—uh, are you okay?”

You swallowed your heart back down. “He said yes.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, stretching out his answer, nodding as Arnold thrust an outfit at him.

“And he…knows it’s with…me?” you asked carefully.

Jason’s brows climbed a notch higher. “Yes, of course.” His eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t quite read.

“Right, right. That’s great! Fantastic. Wonderful,” you said admittedly weakly, turning your gaze back to your reflection. The colour seemed to have drained from your skin, and you ignored the concerned glance exchanged by Jason and Arnold.

“___, hey,” Jason began gently, coming up to stand behind your chair. “Are you okay with this?”

You studied his worried expression, thoughts turning inward. You shifted aside the panic, the disbelief, the prickling nerves, and shushed the sparks of excitement.

A date with Victor.

It sounded wonderful. But the problem was never about you not wanting it. It was that you’ve wanted it for so long and so badly. Could you really have this?

“It’s okay to say no. It’s just…I don’t think it’ll be as awful as you think,” Jason said. His brow furrowed as the lines of your face smoothed out.

Oh.

“It’s for the camera,” you remembered, and Jason hummed thoughtfully. Regardless of what he may think of you, Victor wouldn’t let it show on the screen. You knew he was aware of what the show entails. So, perhaps, you could have this. It was for work. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay.”

Your breath evened out from its shallow state, and you smiled up at Jason, who still looked concerned.

“It’ll be okay.” Your phone buzzed again, and you gathered yourself once more.

‎

Lucien [12: 23]: What can I do for you?

Victor [12:24]: And I look forward to working with you.

‎

It wouldn’t be real.

Telling yourself it wouldn’t be real was easy.

Sitting next to Victor, your high stools positioned close together as you tried to keep your thoughts away from dangerous paths, was not easy. But the light notes of his scent, sandalwood and myrrh if your nose hadn’t led you astray, threatened to lull you into a state of near-intoxication.

Jason had wanted to film the ‘first meeting’ and, for the sake of authenticity, decided to have Victor wait in front of the camera while you got to be the one to walk in. Which meant it was straight from the dressing room to the set. While you were thankful you wouldn’t be filmed drooling on camera, it still meant you wouldn’t get a chance to talk to him until after, or in between takes.

You were a lot more grateful for the arrangement when you did walk to the set, because the sight of Victor—clad in a slim-fit black shirt, paired with a dark grey jacket and black pants that stretched deliciously over his muscled thighs—stopped you dead in your tracks, your thoughts wiped blissfully clean.

The look on his face, bright under the studio lights, had been unreadable, but it didn’t look like his usual unimpressed poker face, so you decided to take it as not quite a win, but not a loss either. Then the small upturn of the corners of his lips, however, threatened to overload your system, prompting you to avert your gaze slightly as you walked to him, for fear of losing yourself.

Your hi had been shyer than intended, but his hello had been the gentlest you had ever heard it.

And then he handed you a bouquet of red, fragrant roses and you felt yourself grow weak.

It was a short take, where you both introduced yourselves, and discussed where you’d be going for the date.

“Do you like fairs?” he’d asked, gaze intent as if your answer was of the utmost importance.

“I love them,” you’d answered, meaning it completely, and he’d looked glad.

Even through the wild beating of your heart, you had managed to feel impressed. He was doing wonderfully already. Who knew Victor had these acting skills? Hopefully, he thought the same of you. You weren’t acting, though, and this, you were quickly realizing, could be a wonderful way to lift the lid off the pot just a little, and let your real feelings shine through.

You would be filming the individual, interview type scenes last, after the date.

With the first meeting done, with Jason going over the take to make sure he had everything he needed, you would be moving to the location soon. But first-

You looked around quickly, covering your mic and making sure nobody was paying too much attention to you, before turning to Victor—only to nearly jump in fright when you met his eyes. How he’d known you wanted to talk, you’d never know. His own eyes had widened when you’d turned around all of a sudden, the tips of his ears reddening slightly. He had probably been startled by your reaction.

“Hi,” you whispered, grinning up at him, and his lips twitched as he covered his mic.

“You’re doing well,” Victor told you, giving you a firm nod, and you couldn’t quite keep from beaming at him.

“Thanks, you too. I never knew you were hiding such a skilled actor in there!” You really meant it, but your words gave him pause, mouth opening and closing as he considered his response. Strange, as modesty was something he didn’t often bother with. Not to say he’s arrogant, just that he knew his strengths.

“…thank you,” he finally said. “You too. I didn’t know you could…act.”

Because you weren’t acting. The blushing, the shy giggling, the warmth buzzing through you, they were painfully real.

You shrugged, smiling slightly, and he looked away.

“Just…thank you, Victor,” you murmured. “I know this isn’t really your thing. But I promise I’ll do my best to make it enjoyable.”

The light, airy sound that escaped his mouth could almost be a laugh. He did shoot you a small smirk, facing you once more. “Well, you’re not wrong. But it can’t be too bad. I’ve heard they’ve got good street food.”

“Good street food,” you repeated blankly. Wasn’t he taking this acting thing too far? This was bordering on alarming, coming from the man who used to look down on you for eating instant noodles.

“Yes.” He looks at you as if daring you to argue, and, well, who are you to argue with an actor’s method?

His smile faded slightly as yours widened, eyes fixating on yours, your voice pitching higher in your excitement. “I know, yeah, great food. Literally the only reason I agreed to do this!”

Victor’s face shutters at that, his lips pressing tightly together. “Hm.” He turned back to face the camera, leaving you confused, before realisation dawned.

“Hey, don’t worry! I won’t be too much of a glutton, we’ll be on camera, after all,” you told him, as reassuringly as possible because you and good food were a dangerous combo.

He arched a sharp brow at you. “We’ll see about that. I may spend most of my time in kitchen, but Mr Mills has much to tell me about some of your reactions.”

It was only through the sheer power of your offence that you were able to scowl at him even with the heat flaring up in your cheeks. “Well, there’s no way the food there will be as good as the one in Souvenir, so we have nothing to worry about.”

You resisted the urge to cross your arms, keeping your hands neatly folded in your lap as you turned away from him. But when he said nothing for a whole minute, you couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a peek, only to be left with your jaw slack.

Victor was still facing forward, but the corners of his mouth seemed to be curling up despite the effort he was clearly putting into keeping them neutral, his tiny smile still managing to spill through the seams. It enraptured you, a willing captive to the sight of him so pleased, and you wondered if you could make it through this with your heart intact.

But then, you told yourself through your daze, any chef would be happy to receive such praise for their food.

[video]

hopefully, yours, episode 3, part 1: Introductions (Victor and Y/n)

450,569 views • Feb 8th, 2020

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JTV ✓

1.19M subscribers

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51,509 comments

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Jason P ✓

pinned comment

This is a special one guys ♡

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needwater 45 minutes ego

AM I HALLUCINATING OR IS VICTOR LI ACTUALLY ON A DATING SHOW?

view 50 replies

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somsom 23 minutes ago

omg it’s y/n! We rarely get to see her on TV. She’s so cute!!!!

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orangeismycolour 16 minutes ago

!!!! Victor and Y/n!!! Omg ever since I saw them attend the Loveland gala together last year, I knew there was something there!!

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tooktiktook 8 minutes ago

um. isn’t this kind of an odd combo?

cheribb 5 minutes ago

@tooktiktok I thought so too but they look pretty cute together. I mean…he totally blushed when he saw her! And his eyes went so soft!

tooktiktok 4 minutes ago

@cheribb Well, she seems sweet but I think he was just being nice.

By the time you were shuffled into a van and driven to the site of the fair, your nerves had mostly settled.

Of course, that may have had something to do with the pudding cup Victor had handed you once you were in your seats. Goldman had brought over a paper bag, with Victor plucking two cups from it like a magician with a hat. With that said, while it’s a trick you’ve seen many a time, it never fails to bring a sparkle to your eye.

With Arnold’s permission, you were more than happy to dig right in. Your makeup would have to be retouched once you got there even if you didn’t eat.

It was easy to relax in the steady familiarity of Victor’s presence. A dangerous notion, your unwavering faith in Victor, that dictated everything would be okay if he was there because he would either make it so, or you, with confidence half-drawn from him, would make sure of it yourself.

It was only once you were halfway through the treat, humming and wiggling in your joy, that you realized Victor hadn’t started on his. Rather, his eyes were fixed firmly on you, intent in observing your devouring of the pudding.

The next bite went down a little heavier as you turned to him.

“Is something wrong?” Your enthusiasm surely couldn’t have come as a surprise.

He hesitated, seemingly on the verge of saying something, before clearing his throat and looking out he the window at the slow-moving traffic.

“No. Just…eat slowly,” he muttered, refusing to look at you. You squint at him, at the pink creeping up the back of his neck, sucking on the spoon thoughtfully. “There’s no need to rush.”

“Sorry. I got a little too excited.” Your laugh is a little hollow, and you muffle it with another mouthful of the soft, sweet dessert, missing his quick glance back at you.

He sighed, sudden and a little ragged.

“No, I meant that you should take your time and savour it,” he told you, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “I can make it for you anytime, so there will be many more chances in the future.”

The next spoonful remained frozen by your mouth as you struggled to process his words. Warm fingers came to rest against the back of your hand, guiding it, and the spoon, to your lips. Your skin tingled, but what was more damning was the way he held your gaze as your lips parted, the metal spoon warm against your tongue as you tasted the sweet delicacy.

It felt all the more sweeter, however, because of the little smile dancing across Victor’s lips.

You were rescued from attempting to respond to that by the van slowing to a stop, with Jason and Homer climbing in before they got moving again. Homer would be the one following you around the fair, as they only needed to get a few takes of you indulging in various activities.

“We absolutely need one with the ferris wheel, of course. A little cliched, but still damn cute. Maybe we can fix a camera in the cabin…” Jason trailed off, turning to Homer for his input. “If you think it’ll be better without you there.”

‘How would it be better without Homer there?’ you wanted to protest. ‘I’ll screw it up if left to my own devices! Professional environment aside, that’s a little too romantic!’

Something prickled at the back of your neck, and you realized Victor seemed to be trying to get your attention, albeit in a very silent way you probably wouldn’t have caught on to if you hadn’t spent so much time studying him.

He said nothing even when you met his gaze, but a reassuring warmth calmed you all the same. I’ll be there, he seemed to say. Trust me.

You were worried about the romantic atmosphere getting to your head, but surely Victor, the ultimate voice of reason, wouldn’t let you get carried away?

“Okay, we won’t crowd you guys too much, but remember to avoid turning away from the camera!”

That had been the last thing Jason said to you both before he retreated to his place behind Homer, who was ready with the camera propped over his shoulder. Your mics were affixed to your clothes, and people were already beginning to shoot curious looks your way. It wasn’t an uncommon sight; many vloggers and people working for food channels could often be found in places like these, flitting about with their cameras out as they partook in the activities available.

While being around cameras was nothing new, it was a little strange to be on the other side of them. Nervousness weighing on your chest, you reminded yourself over and over: be natural, don’t act like a lovesick fool, don’t stare at Victor for too long. Turning to the man himself as Homer adjusted the camera settings, hoping to draw inspiration from his steadfast composure, you could only stare in confusion at the intent way in which he was staring at the entrance to the fair.

Following the trajectory of his gaze, you squinted, hoping to see what had caught his attention. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, with people milling about, the welcoming sign high above their heads bright and welcoming.

“Victor?”

“Hm?”

“Is everything okay?” you asked hesitantly, and he nodded, almost distracted.

“Are we ready?” he asked Homer, who gave him a thumbs up.

Jason grinned at you, winking in what he seemed to think was a discreet manner. “Have fun, you two.”

You couldn’t quite pretend there were no cameras, not with Homer keeping up with you as you began to walk through the entrance arch. Looking at Victor was easier, just to block out the awareness of your companions, of course.

Catching your nervous glances, he inclined his head towards you and made an abortive movement, hand rising and falling midway. His jaw clenched, and then he offered you his arm, elbow bent.

As your hand curled around his arm, you focused on your vibrant surroundings. A task made more difficult when, after a short pause, you felt him tuck his elbow into his side, the broad span of his shoulders relaxing when you tightened your grip.

“I’ve been meaning to come here for years, but never really got the chance to,” you told Victor, your voice still edged with nervousness. But Victor nodded at you again, the usual stern line of his mouth quirking up, and your mind stuttered, committing itself to memorizing the precious curve of his mouth.

“In that case I’m glad we got to come here together,” he told you, and it took a good deal of effort not to gape at him. “It’s a first for both of us.”

You nodded, stunned by this unforeseen acting prowess. Seemed like you’ve discovered another one of his many talents.

“Hopefully, it’s the first of many,” he added, a smug lilt to his voice, and this time, you did gape.

“Y-yeah,” you answered, face heating up as you turned away for the sake of your dignity. “Hopefully.”

bandanaman @headaccs

are we all seeing this?? he’s such a gentleman!! I was not expecting this man to be smooth. #HopefullyYours

mintmadness @mintsallover

@headaccs HAVE YOU SEEN HIM? He doesn’t even need words, one look and I would be on my knees. #HopefullyYours #VictorLi

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@mintsallover calm yo thirsty ass down lmao

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raspberrydream @berryberry

“the first of many” omg what does he mean???? #HopefullyYours

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freshasnow @crystalmoon

Yeah, I’m not really feeling this. I thought we were going to get Kai and Hollow this week? #HopefullyYours

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teatime ✓ @spillit

For those of you asking, yes, we knew Victor Li and Y/n were going to be on Hopefully, Yours. Don’t worry darlings, we’ll have some quality tea for you soon! #HopefullyYours

Spotting the first of the food vendors, you both headed over to it, peering at the fresh dumplings. The vendor straightened up at the sight of the camera, a benign smile spreading across his face when you asked him for permission to film, nodding and plating plump, steaming dumplings with the utmost grace.

Gordon, as he introduced himself, was more than happy to talk about his family business, their two restaurants in Loveland, while Homer took close-ups of the dumpling that Victor broke apart for a better look.

“My daughter comes here every year with me, insisting she can handle things by herself, but honestly, I just enjoy coming here,” he chortled, before fixing the two of you with a knowing look. “It’s a completely different atmosphere from the restaurant! And it’s always nice to see sweet young couples such as yourselves. Reminds me of my own fair dates with my wife…”

You couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Victor, who seemed content to chew on his snack. He caught your eyes, before his flickered over your head towards Homer and Jason. Inexplicably, his ears began to tint a deep crimson, as he swallowed with some effort and stepped closer to you.

It began to make sense when he lifted the other half of the dumpling to your lips, Gordon gasping an oh my! in the background, and even as your heart began to race, your eyes widening, you felt…bad. Jason had obviously asked him to do this, and you felt terrible about him having to embarrass himself like this. But he did it, and so you took a small bite of the dumpling, the juicy filling suddenly tasteless on your tongue.

And then there was a soft sensation on your chin, your eyes lifting to see Victor dabbing at your skin with a napkin, the little motion taking all his concentration until he stepped back with a satisfied glint in his eyes, which seemed to linger around your mouth.

When you were unable to do anything more than flush deeply and try to stammer out a thank you, Jason ended the shot.

The glint in Victor’s eyes didn’t fade, and something within you quivered.

raspberrydream @berryberry

he looks like he wants to eat HER #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

@berryberry I CAN’T BREATHE. I thought he was going to kiss her LOL. And she looked so nervous and then he just wiped her chin THIS IS TOO SOFT I CANT #HopefullyYours

mintmadness @mintsallover

god I wish that were me #HopefullyYours

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only4food @bananabread

Okay I HAVE TO go to this place. I NEED TO EAT EVERYTHING. Who’s in??

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midnightmachine @musiclover

Gordon knows what’s up. We stan a hard-working man. #HopefullyYours

Things continued in much the same direction. With no signs of reluctance, Victor rolled up his sleeves and dived into the bustle of the fair. And with his hand curled around your wrist, you couldn’t bring yourself to doubt him. You’ve learned to read the signs of his displeasure, subtle and obvious, and they were nowhere to be found. He looked relaxed, trying out mini doughnuts, accompanying you to any shops you want to browse, frowning when you looked longingly at the ring toss.

“Let’s go,” he said, guiding you over to the booth. Well, you were supposed to try out the games too, but you hadn’t thought Victor would agree to play them. It seemed a little too childish for him.

“I haven’t come here in years either,” he told you when you looked at him curiously, the two of you standing in line with Homer right next to you. “I love my job, but I admit it takes up most of my time. I rarely have time to indulge like this.” He paused, as if wanting to say more, but his eyes flicked towards Homer and he ended it there.

While a part of you was startled in by his words, another softened at his truthful admission.

Victor seemed to have thought of something else, giving you a meaningful look. “But, of course, I always make time for the people in my life.”

You blinked, a little taken aback by sudden turn in direction.

“Even if they want to come to places like these, I don’t mind.” Victor seemed to be hinting heavily at something, and you smiled at that, almost excessively fond. Because it’s true that Victor makes time for the people in his life, especially his family. And even for you—he’s there for you, no matter how small the matter might be; huffing and puffing and going out of his way to help you.

Falling for someone like that, someone who effuses such stoic confidence and noble compassion in equal measure, it was all too easy.

“Then we’ll make sure to come again,” you told him, a wide grin blooming across your face at the thought. It was unlikely that it would actually happen, but it was nice to think about. You stepped up to the cashier, greeting him politely.

You finally got your turns after fifteen minutes, with Homer and Jason taking a quick snack break while you waited. You’d run a quick eye over the prizes available, quickly drawn to two pusheen cat plushies, a soft grey and a dark ebony. You didn’t think he’d judge you on camera, but would it really be okay to admit that’s what you want? The hair pin would be a more sophisticated pick, something more to his tastes.

Silently despairing over your proclivity for soft cute things, you turned to Victor for his choice.

Only to realize he seemed to have taken his jacket off while you were preoccupied and handed it over to Jason, his thin black t-shirt fitting him like a glove—and your words died a swift death at the back of your throat, shrivelling in the sudden dryness of your mouth. Silhouetted against the light of the late afternoon sun, his features seemed sharper, his gaze keener as he twirled the ring in his hands carefully.

As Homer began to roll the camera, and Victor prepared to toss the ring, you panicked with the realization that he didn’t ask you which prize you wanted like Jason had asked him to.

The ring landed around a bottle with a loud clink, and you hoped the surprise you felt wasn’t clear in your loud cheer. With the look he gave you, you knew he caught it even if others wouldn’t.

And then he handed you the dark pusheen plushy, which you took with trembling fingers and a sheepish smile. “Oh, thank you.” It was exquisitely soft to the touch. “This is the one I wanted.”

“Hm.”

“It looks like you.”

“What-” His head snapped toward you as you laughed, clutching the toy to your chest. Whatever outraged retort he’d been about to spit out was held back as he saw you hugging it contentedly, your eyes twinkling at him. “…I suppose.”

You handed him the toy, rolling your shoulders as you were given the ring. “Which one do you want?”

“I’m fine with anything,” he said, eyes locked on the grey pusheen plushy, the other half of the pair. So it was with a laugh, helpless in the face of his clear yet unspoken demand, that you tossed the ring. You got it on the second try, handing the toy to Victor with a triumphant grin, who took it primly and tucked it into his side.

“Thank you.”

“Isn’t this too childish by your standards?” you teased, unable to help it, but he only smirked down at you, stealing your breath with devastating ease.

“It is. But childish is…nice, sometimes,” he admitted carefully.

Your mind helpfully supplied you with all the instances of him calling you childish. “Oh?”

He shrugged, elegant, one shoulder lifting as he looked back down at the toy, before looking back up at you through dark, half-lidded eyes. “It’s grown on me.”

Kiro ✓ @kiromusic

Wow! This seems like so much fun, I kinda wish I got to go there too! :D @miracley/n invite me next time!! #HopefullyYours

Savin @agents

@kiromusic You just want to eat junk. And...well, I guess we can make an exception for today.

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bandanaman @headaccs

Before I proceed to scream over the clip, I just wanted to let y’all know I did some digging and apparently, they are friends! They’ve been spotted together in public many times, including the Loveland Gala last year. You know what this means. #HopefullyYours

bandanaman @headaccs

THE PUSHEEN TOYS. They won each other toys!! Y/n’s right, that does look like him with the dark fur lmao. BUT. Look at Victor’s heart eyes!! And she looked so happy omg T_T

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@headaccs NO WONDER. It seems like they already like each other but it seemed too soon!! They’re so cute omg please date!! #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

@berryberry With how they look at each other? I smell pining ;) I’ve compiled a list of all their public appearances. He even took her to Souvenir! How are they not dating????

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@headaccs DM ME!!!!

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@headaccs I feel like that’s a bit of a reach. They certainly seem comfortable with each other, but that could easily just be friendship, which is nice too. I feel like we should allow people to be friends instead of just shipping them.

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mintmadness @mintsallover

@hotsauce they’re on a dating show, though.

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@mintsallover yeah but plenty of other ‘couples’ were just friends or went on to be good friends. I just think these two are comfortable with each other, which is probably a good thing because Victor doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who can have fun with just anyone, you know?

You ended up having a lot more fun than you thought you would. Victor was always great company, but you could tell he’d tried his best to relax for the show and you didn’t know how to thank him for it. The warm gratitude bubbled up at the base of your throat, your heart sinking deeper into the ocean of affection you already held for him.

He’s so kind. His aloof demeanour, his nagging, his precise instructions and advice were things you’ve come to appreciate. But beyond those lies a heart so caring, so considerate, it made you yearn so deeply, to find yourself a place in it. But Victor had come to treat you as a friend and you could never ruin that because of your own feelings. It was precious, his friendship, and you wanted to treat it as such.

The line you’d drawn with so much care seemed to be straining, however, ever since you found out you would be riding the ferris wheel together, without Homer.

“The people in charge told us if we could just wait until closing time, they could keep things going until we’re done shooting!” Jason had told you as he briefed everyone. A bunch of the crew had left after packing up, as this would be the last take for the day. “That way Homer can fix the lighting and equipment in the cabin and won’t need to join you two! Give you some privacy, yeah?”

‘For what,’ you’d screamed internally, nodding along with a smile on the outside.

Looking to Victor for his opinion had been futile, because he seemed to have withdrawn into his own head, looking up at the ferris wheel absently. You were supposed to shoot the individual parts, but with how late it had gotten, Jason had asked the two of you to drop by the studio the next day. Only, you had a free slot in the morning while Victor would only be able to make it sometime during the late afternoon.

So you wouldn’t get to see what Victor said about you. That was perfectly fine. Things had gone well, and Victor wasn’t the sort to badmouth someone anyway.

It was supposed to be his day off. And he gave it up to participate in a show that was, for all intents and purposes, pointless for him. You felt terrible, heart aching at the thought that once again you had made him waste his time.

How on earth did Jason even get him to agree to this?

“You’re thinking something ridiculous,” came a low voice, and Victor seemed to have come back from his mental journey.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, the guilt getting to you.

“For what?” He seemed genuinely baffled, and it made you feel worse.

“For this entire day. You just came for a visit and now it’s after 8 pm and your day off is gone and you rarely get free time…” your shameful rambling tapered off as the furrow between his brows appeared to grow deeper and deeper.

His response was interrupted by a staff member, who came to let you know the ride was ready for you two. Walking together in complete silence, you wondered what he was about to say.

“Do you regret it?”

You arrived at the ride, and Victor had stopped in front of the open door. “What?”

“Do you regret it?” he repeated patiently, holding his hand out to you. “This entire day. Our date.”

Our date.

It was silly, how him calling it a date, with no cameras in sight, seemed to affect you so deeply. It was ridiculous but it was so real, how your heart fluttered and hope unfurled in the garden where you’ve buried your affection.

“Because I’m not sorry,” he added when you failed to do anything other than flush horribly. There was a question in his gaze, one you didn’t know how to answer, so with a deep breath, you focused on the one he’d asked out loud.

“No,” you said softly, your hand coming to rest over his as he helped you into the cabin. “I don’t regret it.”

How could you, when he was everything you wanted?

You settled on the plastic bench, watching Homer fiddle with the settings and light, making sure the camera’s fixed in place, basking in the heat emanating from Victor.

“Alright, that should work. You guys ready?” he asked.

“Yeah!”

“Yes.”

Homer stepped back to let Jason poke his head through the door. “We’re all set guys. Just call us if there are any problems. Be yourselves, don’t worry about the take. And remember, make sure to make it as romantic as possible!”

As the door closed behind him, with the camera rolling, silence rose to take the place of the sounds now cut off, the rest of the world falling away as the ride began and you began to ascend.

Outside the window, the stars shone in a twinkling blanket across the night sky, and Victor’s arm pressed into yours. Meeting his eyes was difficult, astoundingly so after the entire day you spent together.

This close, it would be so easy to let the words tumble from your lips. You didn’t know what your eyes could give away right now, and you were just as afraid of the softness in his gaze.

It looked too real.

“I’m glad we finally got some peace,” he muttered, and just like that a bright laugh broke out through your fear.

“This was not your kind of place at all, was it?” you said, snickering at the look he threw your way, because it’s so easy to make him huff like that.

“It was…lively,” he said, glaring at you as you stifle your smile behind your hand. “Exactly the kind of place you enjoy.”

“That’s true.”

“Then that’s that.” He shifted a little, trying to face you, his knee knocking into yours. “As long as you had fun, we’ll come again.”

Despite your warnings, your heart skipped a beat.

You tried to laugh it off, changing the subject to your childhoods, swapping lighter stories and carefully avoiding the heartbreaks. Your hands moved somewhere in between, in the dim lights, and your fingers had found each other’s. Make it romantic, Jason had said. That was the only reason. You talked about work, about Miracle Finder, about his public projects, how your busy lives don’t give you the chance to find love.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Victor cut in, still looking at you in that quietly dangerous away, his gaze a heated cloak over your skin.

You stilled. “You wouldn’t?” There was a tremor in your voice, one you hoped went unnoticed.

“I think, regardless of how busy we are, however reluctant…love finds us when it has to,” he said, his voice deep, unwavering, and you forgot how to breathe. Somehow, despite doing your best to avoid it, you had wound up on the proverbial cliff’s edge.

And it was time to take a leap.

“Victor...have you ever been in love?” you asked, part of you ready for his outrage, for him to brush it off with a roll of his eyes, and the other curling up in fear at the thought of the answer he might really give you.

He hummed, tightening his grip on your hand when you tried to tug it back, searching your face. His thumb swept over your knuckles, rubbing gently, and you wondered if he was preparing you for heartbreak.

“Yes. I have.”

Kiki @kikiki

@smilingwillow WHAT THE FUCK

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Anna @miracletv

@kikiki Language.

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Kiki @kikiki

‎@miracletv did you see the episode?? im going to collapse WHERE IS BOSS @miracley/n

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raspberrydream @berryberry

DID HE JUST???? OH MY GOD @headaccs DID YOU SEE THIS? ARE YOU OKAY? #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

THIS MAD LAD ACTUALLY DID IT. @berryberry I will never recover from this #HopefullyYours

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@headaccs @berryberry He just said he’s been in love before. He didn’t say he’s in love with her lol

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@hotsauce what will it take for you to finally see the light

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mintmadness @mintsallover

I could listen to this man talk all day. Y/n, you’re one lucky girl <3 #HopefullyYours

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cocoloco @chocolatedelite

I’m late to the party but lmao at everyone freaking out. Uhhh honestly I’m not sure. These things are usually scripted. They could just be faking it. #HopefullyYours

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@chocolatedelite Thank you!!!!

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victorshoe @mrsli

My heart is broken but their cuteness has mended it. I’ll give them my blessings. #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

oh thank god they just uploaded the individual bits!!! THANK YOU @jtv

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bandanaman @headaccs

...wait

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raspberrydream @berryberry

‎‎omfg

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bandanaman @headaccs

????? IS THAT IT??? COME BACK @jtv that can't be it!!

Thank you for reading!

MC/You: it’s a fake date. chill.

Victor: Goldman I need NINE roses and an outfit that makes me look like a sex god I HAVE A DATE

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc fanfic #mr love queen's choice #mr love li zeyan #mlqc victor x reader #queue are my sunshine

374 notes · View notes

to-many-towered-camelot · 3 years

Text

book notes

for anyone who is interested in a nuanced take on fairy beliefs vs the Christian Church in the Middle Ages, this book by Richard Firth Green was actually so good, if your library has it:

[Image: Front cover of the book ‘Elf Queens and Holy Friars: Fairy Beliefs and the Medieval Church’ by Richard Firth Green]

like, obvs it’s just one person’s take on a very complex topic, but it’s well-written, well-researched, and it uses a bunch of Arthurian examples throughout to explore this dynamic (see under cut)

really interesting exploration of how the Church’s response evolved from the early-High Middle Ages (”dude, you believe in fairies? hhhmmm, do penance for 10 days”) to the Late Middle Ages/Early Modern Period (”kill them for heresy and witchcraft!”)

and how it enfolded vernacular/fairy beliefs into Christian doctrine as fairies being either a) demons or b) the illusions of demons (and how dangerous/bad these demons were depended on the time/location/cleric in question - some packaged fairies as “neutral” demons who fell when the rebel angels did, and who must be punished on Earth but will return to Heaven on Doomsday - potentially doing this to soften things for their parishioners, who often held these fairy beliefs and reconciled them with Christianity, uh, differently than the Church officially would prefer)

and enduring belief in fairies existed in both common and aristocratic circles (can see this in medieval romances, although they’re not the only source of evidence), rather than just being used as cultural “decoration” by a more sceptical upperclass

aaaaand because of this conflation of fairy = demon, you get a really interesting blend/overlap with medieval demonology and enduring “folk” beliefs (obvs not all of medieval demonology was just rebranded fairies, but some of it defs was - you see stories being retold with “devil” instead of “elf”, for example)

INCLUDING in Arthuriana - how you get Morgan the Fairy (”le Fay”) vs Morgan who was raised in a nunnery and learned dark magic there, the Lady of the Lake as a (largely) positive force, Merlin inexplicably as a (perceived to be...) Good Guy despite being the literal antichrist, the Green Knight and all the overlap with Christian symbolism in that story, etc, etc. and they all just either??? co-exist in the same stories or appear through either more fay or more ~Christian lenses depending on the version

and it creates a very interesting and very confusing soup of Stuff stemming from a very confusing - and sometimes dangerous - soup of official and unofficial beliefs evolving over hundreds of years

anyway, WRT Arthuriana it’s got (and ymmv on these, but they’re all interesting thoughts):

(i think in Gottfried’s Tristan???) apparently Tristan has a rainbow fairy dog called Petitcriu...name a knight less deserving of such a Good Boy smh

Chretien’s Yvain flooding out Laudine at the fountain (...jerk) as a continuation of the beliefs surrounding a magical Spring at Barenton

Gingalain moving from being the son of Gawain and the fairy Blanchemal (and having a fairy love interest, Pucelle) in the French OG version (~1200-ish) to being the son of Gawain and his human mistress (with Pucelle also being human) in a later 15th-C Middle English version)

AJDKN UJ IOE E Merlin’s conception, that one’s a wild ride - theologians REALLY didn’t like the idea of demons being fertile, and the work-arounds they came up with were...incredible. but skipping over that sheer comedy, the author draws links between Merlin’s conception and the general trend of claiming a fairy lover/whatever when a difficult-to-explain pregnancy arose. He also theorises that Geoffrey’s idea for Merlin’s father being a demon/fairy may have come from Nennius saying that Merlin/Ambrosius’ mother��“never knew a man”. Later adaptations of this storyline made it even more fay-like (when they weren’t, like Robert de Boron, making it more fucked-up) by making Merlin’s father invisible (Wace) or a super attractive guy in swanky gold clothes (Layamon) - and Vortigern’s advisor explaining the creatures that lived between the earth and the moon until doomsday, etc, etc (walking that line between fairy and incubi, whichhhhhh was not clearly delineated in the Middle Ages the way it is now). also there’s one 13th-C Anglo-Norman poem where Merlin’s father is a bird that transforms into a dashing young squire, which isn’t terribly demon-y. So even though most versions of this story describe Merlin’s dad as an incubi-demon, what people understood this to mean may have been more fay-ish that we’d expect nowadays (depending on the reader, and also on authorial intention - some are pretty explicit that he’s a demon [many clerics keen to push this as the main narrative], while others refer to him as an elf or fairy). some contemporary scepticism during this time about Merlin having any sort of supernatural parentage as well

[none of the same Church anxieties about explaining away how the Plantagenets and other aristocratic families claim a female fairy ancestress - maybe bc there’s none of the stress about patrilineal bloodlines??? who knows! but yeah, much less thought given to those stories in ecclesiastical circles, and they were very popular in vernacular romances (male aristocratic wish fulfilment?). also, fairy enchantments =/= necromancy, so there are stories like the non-cyclic Lancelot where the Lady of the Lake is found out to be “a fairy by education, not by nature or heredity” (Elspeth Kennedy), with the spirits used in necromancy being demons, not fairies. also potential trend of female-associated magic becoming more passive and book-learned, gradually demonising it leading up to early-modern witch hunts.]

Geoffrey of Monmouth in his Historia and in the Vita Merlini being actually pretty circumspect about saying whether or not Arthur was alive/dead, returning/not returning, maybe due to his work/text being a (hypothesised) defence of the Welsh as being “civilised” (and having been so for centuries before the Normans came) - with the corollary that believing in Arthur’s return was somehow “uncivilised”. Author argues that this may be due to an association with fairy beliefs, and that Layamon is the one that makes Avalon explicitly fey. Also the author describes Arthur as living in a “feminised version of the Christian heaven” (iconic) and says that later writers and people could be very scornful of this belief held by the Britons/Welsh/etc, and that it was contrary to orthodox ways of thinking.

Links the “discovery” of Arthur and Guinevere’s bodies in Glastonbury in the late 12th-C as similar to when individuals found the bodies of their loved ones, thus making it much harder to believe (and hope) that they were still alive in fairyland. Makes a suggestion that the monks in Glastonbury who “found” these bodies may have been trying to curry favour with the English crown (i.e. champion/hope of the Welsh isn’t coming back) but also may have been trying to “help”/”save”/correct the thoughts/ideology of the Welsh (i.e. “set them on the correct path to salvation”). Lots of medieval writers describing Arthur as living in “fairyland”. Precedent of people visiting fairyland and returning, so Avalon/fairyland =/= a place only for the dead (i.e. Arthur isn’t dead). An Arthurian example, albeit a less explicitly fay one, is Lancelot getting in and out of Gorre (with Gorre as a “typically supressed and rationalised” version of fairyland) in Chretien’s Knight of the Cart.

Some stuff about the wild horde (distinct from the wild hunt) being presented by some writers as very penitential (i.e. they are departed souls that may look like they’re bearing arms/hunting/whatever as they did in life, but really they are in agony e.g. because their weapons burn them) and tbh demonic (black armour, carrying torches, ominous aesthetic). Other writers thought maybe it was - once again! - demonic impersonators rather than actual mortal souls. (Should note also that the wild horde/wild hunt motifs were not always associated with their being dead). Relevant in the Arthurian context because Arthur and his court were sometimes associated with the idea of the wild horde (as in, sometimes the wild horde is described as Arthur’s court living it up in a cool, undying sort of way - “in the likeness of knights hunting or jousting, commonly known as the household of Hellequin or of Arthur” [Etienne de Bourbon, a medieval writer] - with Hellequin’s household often being used to encompass either the wild hunt or the wild horde). Ultimate point made by the author (props to him, he’s always like “if i’m right” lol) that for many clerical writers, it was very uncomfortable to leave people with the impression that Arthur and his court were living it up in fairyland (and similar for other figures associated with the wild hunt/horde) and this idea needed to be corrected/shaped to suit more orthodox perspectives - e.g. tying in with notions of purgatory, etc.

Aaaand this one was exciting to me just bc i’ve vaguely heard about Arthur and his knights snoozing under a hill, but for some reason i could only remember this being in Victoria-era-and-onwards poetry. 3 versions of the same tale, where a servant looks for his master’s lost horse on a Sicilian mountain. Version 1) servant of a bishop finds his master’s horse in the beautiful palace of Arthur’s court beneath Mt Etna. Aside from the fact that the ancient wound Arthur received from Mordred opens once a year, it’s not very purgatory-like. Version 2) a dean’s servant is told by an old man that King Arthur has the horse on Mt Gyber (Mt Etna). he is told that his master must attend Arthur’s court in 14 days, but the dean laughs it off...then sickens and dies on the appointed day (whoops). Enough differences to this story compared to the first to suggest an oral circulation. Also a note in the version/text that such mountains are said to be the mouth of hell, and only the wicked are sent there, not the chosen. Version 3) Etienne again! Also likely changed with intervening oral circulation. The master is not an ecclesiastical figure, and Arthur’s palace is now a populous city - also Arthur is not referred to, just a nameless prince. There is a gatekeeper who warns the servant not to eat or drink while he’s there (that...is a very fairy-ish proscription). This mountain is apparently reputed to be the site of purgatory. The book author (Richard, i mean) ties these versions in with other stories/accounts of different entrances to purgatory (e.g. one on an island in an Irish lake) as being part of a gradual process of “rendering [...] fairyland purgatorial”.

Finally, Gawain in Roman van Walewein: To get to an ‘earthly paradise’ [i.e. King Assentijn’s garden with its fountain of youth - side note that ‘earthly paradises’ were often popularly described to be fairyland/where fairies live, in addition to their theological functions, e.g. Avalon was sometimes described as an earthly paradise...i should also say that purgatory was frequently thought to be located beside earthly paradise, so there’s the proximity element] and the castle containing it, Gawain must cross a river (guided by a magical talking fox) that a) has waters that burn like fire, and b) can only be crossed by using a bridge sharper than a razor. His reaction? “Is it the enchantment of elves or magic / that I see?”. He is then guided by the fox underneath the river through a tunnel, and is told that the river’s source is in the depths of hell, and “[the river] is the true purgatory / All souls, having departed from the body / Must come here to bathe.” So it’s a very strong intermingling of fairy and purgatorial imagery/ideas!

I dunno, I just found this very ??? satisfying to read

it leaned towards lit-crit at times (which, considering the subject matter, is honestly fair enough), but it was more respectful of vernacular beliefs than so many other academic takes i see (ofc ymmv re: anything to do with non-Christian major religions, but i think the author’s pretty solid on this!), and it had an explanation for the survival of these beliefs that imo made a lot of sense, especially from a pan-European perspective, not just a Celtic one

plus it explored the undeniable damage done by Christianity over history without making up some “ranged battle between paganism and the Church” that i see e v e r y w h e r e in casual Arthurian circles...which, like, i empathise with the vibe, but also! that’s just straight-up historical revisionism! (i blame MZB and the 80′s for that one)

(there was a fantastic post floating around a while ago about how the religious syncretism in Arthurian literature is much more interesting than peeling away all of the Catholicism in the medieval lit (...you ?? don’t end up with much left?) and saying that this is more “accurate” to some obscure original)

anyway yeah yeah ymmv but it’s v interesting 😊

#arthuriana #Arthurian legend #religion #religious history #christianity #folklore #*#richard firth green #AUDEI FEF HEF this is hilariously long #but really it was such an interesting book!#esp if you're a bit like me and you've been turned away from discussing vernacular/folkloric elements in Arthuriana bc of how badly/weirdly #it's been handled in the past #arthurian literature #medieval history #medieval literature #medieval romance #(also im so sorry to any medieval historian reading this im just throwing around 'The Church' willy-nilly i know it's not a monolith!!!#pinky swear

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passionate-reply · 3 years

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This week on Great Albums: a fresh look at quite possibly the 80s’ most hated band, A Flock of Seagulls! Spoiler: their music is good, people in the 90s and 00s were just mean. If you want to find out more about how having the absolute best hair in the business ended up backfiring on these poor sods, look no further than my latest video. Or the transcript of it, which follows below the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’m going to be diving into a discussion of quite possibly the most derided and lambasted music group of the 1980s: A Flock of Seagulls. With a strange name, a perhaps painfully stylish aesthetic, and equally trendy and of-the-moment music, that was, for a time, inescapable in popular culture, their legacy forms a perfect target for the ridicule all popular things must face in due time. But even moreso than that, I think A Flock of Seagulls have become not only a punchline in and of themselves, but also a summation of everything that was dreadful and excessive about the early 1980s, with its “Second British Invasion” of synthesiser-driven New Wave. I can think of no better example of this kind of abuse than a famous line from the 1999 comedy film, Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me. The film is largely a love letter to the 1960s and its Mod aesthetics, and the protagonist, a super-spy unfrozen from this era in time, dismisses the history and culture of the 1970s and 80s as nothing more than “a gas shortage, and A Flock of Seagulls.” But at the time of this writing, we’re about as far away from Austin Powers as the film was from the release of this album, the band’s 1982 debut LP, so I think it’s been long enough that we can start to re-evaluate A Flock of Seagulls’ rightful place in music history.

While this self-titled album was the group’s first long-player, their first release was the 1981 single “It’s Not Me Talking.” Notably, this track was actually produced by the legendary Bill Nelson, who also released it on their behalf via his personal label, Cocteau Records. Ever since discovering this for myself, I’ve found the connection between Nelson and A Flock of Seagulls fascinating, and also satisfying. Despite the gulf between their respective reputations, I do think their work has a lot in common, at the end of the day: swirling washes of synth disrupted by screaming guitars, not to mention that shared interest in Midcentury rock and roll aesthetics.

Music: “It’s Not Me Talking”

These two acts would, of course, go their separate ways shortly after, and they ended up in completely opposite camps, with Nelson becoming a cult favourite with little crossover success, and A Flock of Seagulls going on to create what is, undoubtedly, one of the most iconic songs of the entire decade.

Music: “I Ran”

What does one even say about a song like “I Ran”? Over the years, it’s certainly gotten somewhat overplayed, but I can’t really hold that against it. It’s just a damn good song. Both ethereally menacing as well as catchy and rather accessible, “I Ran” takes the atmosphere suggested by “It’s Not Me Talking” and kicks it into another gear, with a harder-hitting hook and the introduction of that highly distinctive and of-the-moment echoing guitar effect. Some will hear it as little more than evidence that the song is hopelessly dated, but I’ve never thought of it as anything other than satisfying to listen to. If you ask me, I figure all art that exists is essentially “a product of its time”--nobody ever said Michelangelo Buonarroti’s David was a lousy sculpture, just because you can easily tell it was made during the Italian Renaissance. At any rate, I’d encourage everyone reading to go back and listen to it again, trying to maintain a little neutrality. I’d recommend the album cut of it, which is significantly longer than the single version, and features a rich intro that sets the scene before that famous guitar ever makes an appearance, which I think really adds to the experience. By some reckonings, A Flock of Seagulls are sometimes considered a “one-hit wonder,” but while they certainly are remembered chiefly for “I Ran,” this album’s other singles were moderately successful as well.

Music: “Space Age Love Song”

“Space Age Love Song” is perhaps the band’s second best-remembered single, and takes their sound in a markedly different direction than that of “I Ran.” “I Ran” won popular acclaim by finding a new home for the guitar, in the midst of a sea of synth, and pushed A Flock of Seagulls into a similar space as acts like the Cars and Duran Duran, who had enough mainstream rock sensibilities to sneak a lot of synthesiser usage onto American rock radio...much as one might sneak spinach into tomato sauce when feeding picky children. But I think “Space Age Love Song” is much more palatable to listeners of pop, synth- or otherwise. It’s softer in texture, and really almost dreamy, capturing the hazy, buoyant feeling of limerence as well as any pop song ever has. I’m tempted to compare it to another synth-driven classic, whose influence towers over this period in electronic music: the great Giorgio Moroder’s “I Feel Love.” Much like “I Feel Love,” “Space Age Love Song” combines simple, almost banal love lyrics with an evocative electronic soundscape, painting a picture of an enchanting, high-tech future where human feelings like love have remained comfortably recognizable across centuries or millennia. A similar theme of futuristic love pervades the album’s second single, “Modern Love Is Automatic.”

Music: “Modern Love Is Automatic”

While “Space Age Love Song” uses simplistic lyricism to portray the relatable universality of falling in love, “Modern Love Is Automatic” gives us the album’s most complex narrative. In a world where “young love’s forbidden,” we meet a pair of star-crossed lovers prevented from being together by some sort of dystopian authority. The male member of this union, introduced as the “cosmic man,” is apparently imprisoned for the crime of loving, but the text suggests that he may escape from this prison--or, perhaps, even be freed from it. The title, repeated quite frequently throughout the track, is perhaps the mantra of this anti-love society, a piece of propaganda being drilled into us as thoroughly as it is into these subjects: Modern love is automatic, with no need for messy, unpredictable human input.

It’s also worth noting that the song is consciously set in “old Japan,” deliberately locating it in the “exotic” East. While East Asia was strongly associated with refined, perhaps futuristic culture, I can’t help but think there’s a more pejorative sentiment operating here, rooted in stereotypes of Asian cultures unduly policing sexual freedom, and other forms of personal expression and self-determination. Ultimately, despite its futuristic trappings, “Modern Love Is Automatic” isn’t really a song about technology at all, but rather authoritarianism. “Telecommunication,” on the other hand, engages more directly with that theme.

Music: “Telecommunication”

“Telecommunication” was also released prior to the self-titled album proper, and was also produced by Bill Nelson. While structurally similar to “Modern Love Is Automatic,” with an oft-repeated title, brief verses, and a generally repetitive musical structure full of meandering guitar, its text quite plainly discusses the titular field of technology, in a seemingly non-judgmental fashion--though it could be argued that the fairly upbeat music suggests a positive outlook on things like radio and TV. The one hitch in all of it is the very end of the last verse, which sets the song in the “nuclear age”--a nod, perhaps, to the darker applications of 20th Century technology. “Telecommunication” is perhaps indebted less to figures like Moroder, and moreso to Kraftwerk, who first solidified the rich tradition of stoic synth thumpers about everyday machines like cars, trains, and, of course, nuclear energy. I’m also tempted to compare it to an earlier work of Bill Nelson’s group Be-Bop Deluxe, “Electrical Language,” another bubbly number that playfully bats this concept back and forth.

The theme of “quotidian technology” is also present on the cover of this album, which features an interior shot of a living room, centered around a television set. The TV displays a figure playing guitar--perhaps one of those heroic rock pioneers of the Midcentury like Buddy Holly, whom Nelson was so keen to imitate. But what’s most immediately striking about this cover is its beautiful colour palette, full of deep, saturated jewel tones, treated softly with an “airbrush” style effect. Despite being a somewhat mundane scene, the image also features fanciful, imaginative touches: the floor of this room is actually a miniature beach landscape, with the “floor” beneath the TV actually being the surface of the ocean, and the TV appears to be surrounded by a colourful, glowing group of birds. Given the beachy surroundings, we could perhaps interpret them as the titular seagulls. It’s tempting to think of this scene as a representation of how technology can sweep us away, out of our everyday existence and into something richer and more exciting.

But perhaps it’s not so simple--note also the open window in the top left, whose curtain appears to be agitated by some sort of motion in the air. Perhaps these birds are not the products of television fantasy, but rather have flown in from the window, and hence hail from the “real world?” Given how tracks like “Space Age Love Song” and “Modern Love Is Automatic” tackle the theme of the mundane meeting the fantastical, I think this complex and arresting image is a great fit for the album.

While their self-titled debut spawned multiple recognizable hits, A Flock of Seagulls never came anywhere close to recapturing its success. For the most part, they struggled to remain relevant as time wore on, largely abandoning the sonic footprint of their first album, and chasing after new trends in music technology such as digital synthesisers. They would eventually break up during the mid-1980s, and though they’ve reunited in order to perform live several times, the book is probably closed on A Flock of Seagulls. Personally, I can’t help but wonder what might have been if they had stuck to their musical roots a bit more. You get a bit of that on their third LP, 1984’s The Story of a Young Heart, which thankfully brings back that iconic echoing guitar, and does so without sounding too much like a simple retread of “I Ran.” Out of all their other work, it’s the album I would most recommend to admirers of this debut LP.

Music: “Remember David”

My favourite track on A Flock of Seagulls’ debut LP is “Messages”--not to be confused with the track of the same name by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark! Moreso than anything else on the album, “Messages” has this aggressive, insistent, driving quality, and feels less like yacht rock, and more like punk rock. Despite not being released as a single, I think it’s a very strong track that’s quite easy to get into. That’s everything for today--thanks for listening!

Music: “Messages”

#music #album review #album reviews #great albums #a flock of seagulls #flock of seagulls

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whatisthisidefk · 3 years

Text

The River, the Sea, and the Stars Part 2 (SFW version)

Panic clawed at Therien, dragging him down to the floor beside the bed. He clutched at his head and struggled to breathe. Tried to reconcile what he'd seen, what he'd heard, the fear in Andros's voice as he was pulled into darkness. The entreaty to stay away.

Don't look for me. The taste of Andros still lingered on his lips.

Normally, Andros would be the one to ground him, help him through his panic attacks, but Andros wasn't there this time. Therien had to get through it on his own. There wasn't anyone else to hold his hand or say the right things. There was only Therien, alone, alone, alone…

No. There was one other he could turn to. Someone who, despite everything, would help. At least, he hoped she would. She'd understand. She had to. Therien couldn't let himself chase the what-if, what-if that spiraled through his brain. He had to believe in their friendship, however distant it may have grown. Without Andros there, she was the only person he trusted enough to ask.

With shaking fingers, he groped for his phone and didn't bother trying to search the contact list. He knew the number by heart, even if he hadn't dialed it in over two years.

Therien begged it to connect. It was late for him, so it would be hours later where he was calling, but he didn't think he had the strength to try again if it didn't pick up.

It rang three times, then, "Hey." Her voice was rough with sleep, but it was her. "Hey, sweetheart. You okay?"

He stifled a sob, poorly. "N-non. Je suis désolé. Je suis désolé, Dra. Andros...il a disparu. M'aidez…"

"In English, Therien. Try to focus. French isn't my strong suit and I can't help you if I don't understand you."

English felt impossible, but he tried. "Je--I don't know what to do. He--he's gone."

"Who's gone? Talk to me, hon."

He angrily wiped at the tears on his face with the heel of his hand. "Andros. Ah, uh, he disappeared! He was there. Here, with me, and then...something took him?" How was he supposed to explain any of it to her when he didn't understand it himself? "Dra, I--I need help. I need to find him."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, and her gentle concern became more focused. With a note he couldn't identify, she said, "Therien, tell me--what exactly happened to Andros?"

Something broke inside him. "There were chains. They dragged him away with no warning. He was there and then he wasn't. And I don't know what to do. Help me," he finished weakly. "Dra...I'm sorry. For everything."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," she said, and somehow, that got through to him. Dra never lied. It was a constant in his universe. His breathing slowed as she went on. "This is what you're going to do, okay? You're going to pack up everything and check out of the hotel. Get on your plane back here, and text me when you land. I will pick you up. I...I think I can help. But you're going to have to trust me. Can you do that?"

"Anything," he said. "Dra...thank you."

"You know I'll always be here for you. Right?"

"I know. I love you for it."

"You okay now?" The motherly note he always associated with her came through the phone like a hug. "Do you need me to stay on with you?"

"I'm okay. I'll be okay. I'm...I'm going to get dressed and get out of here. I can't stay anymore." He kept seeing those chains, over and over, every time he looked at the shadows. "See you in a few hours."

"I'll be ready. Love you." The call ended, leaving Therien alone in the room once more. He stared at his hands for a moment and concentrated on his breathing.

In, out. In, out. He could do this. Pack up everything, call a car, check out. He'd sleep in the airport, if he could manage sleep at all, and then he'd be home. Dra said she could help, which meant she would do everything in her power to aid him.

***

A miraculously earlier red-eye flight and three cups of coffee later, the wheels touched down in Boston and Therien retrieved his luggage. He texted Dra the moment he was able to, so by the time he exited the airport, a familiar black Mini Cooper waited by the curb. She waved at him from beside it.

Therien dragged the suitcases across the other lanes of cars picking up passengers and heaved them into the open trunk. Then, before he could say anything, his tiny friend opened her arms to hug him.

Therien found himself kneeling to hug her back. She wore a massively oversized sweater (black) over a long, rumpled peasant skirt (also black), and even in her heeled boots, she barely stood over four feet tall. Still, she managed to envelop him in a fierce, warm hug that negated the chill of autumn.

He didn't realize he was crying until his vision blurred. "I missed you," he said into her shoulder as she stroked his hair. "I'm so sorry."

"Nonsense," she said firmly, reluctantly disengaging from the embrace. "Now let's get moving before that airport cop decides to yell at me for parking here too long, hmm? We'll stop for Dunkin' and you can tell me everything back at the shop."

"Okay."

***

The drive back from Boston to Northampton passed in a blur. Therien nibbled at a glazed donut and sipped the hot, familiar coffee, but he let himself be lulled by the monotony of the Mass Pike. He wasn't ready to talk yet, and he knew Dra wouldn't push him to. He still felt wrung out and dazed by the past eight hours--had it only been that long? He went over the litany of events in his mind, not for the first time, and decided that it was perfectly acceptable to feel the way he did.

Above--and underneath, and all throughout--his thoughts, the one bright thing that he clung to was the memory of how happy Andros had been. That whatever happened, Therien knew his feelings were returned after all.

They left the highway and turned toward downtown Northampton, following Main Street into the heart of the Five Colleges area. Therien had spent enough time wandering around town that he felt a wave of nostalgia at the familiar brick and stone shops, the Hotel Northampton, the Calvin Theater, the town hall. It was the kind of place that didn't change on the face very often, making it easy to picture across years with very little difference.

Dra pulled down a side street on a hill and parked at the curb. The lawn rose up at a steep angle to the right, with steps cut into the earth that led to a standalone wood and brick building. Above the porch, a hand-painted sign read, The Tea Dragon's Hoard. "Here we are. Same old shop."

"It looks exactly as I recall." Therien smiled down at her. "It's good to be back."

"This place agrees with you," she said, with a peculiar emphasis on place. "You shouldn't have left."

"It was a professional decision, Dra."

"You belonged here!" She stopped herself. "Sorry. I was this close to saying 'I told you so' but that would have been cruel. And wrong.You had to pursue your career."

He hefted the two suitcases--his and Andros's--from the back of the car. "Considering last night...maybe not so wrong."

"Don't." Dra sent him a worried glare. "Come on. We have a lot to discuss, and I'm not going to start until I have a proper pot of tea."

A handwritten sign on the door said, "Closed Due to Emergency. Visit us online!" It made a small curl of warmth in Therien's chest, that Dra would sacrifice a full day of business for him. He felt the close, homey atmosphere of the Hoard settle around him as they walked through the empty shop to a private stairwell at the back. Crystals and semiprecious stones twinkled at them as they passed, and the multitude of dried herbs and oils along the wall behind the apothecary counter merged into one complex scent that meant comfort to Therien. Dra unclipped the "do not enter" chain and let him precede her up to the apartment on the next floor.

"In here." She led him through a tiny kitchen, equally tiny living room, and to a short hallway with three doors. "Spare closet, I mean, guest room." She winked and opened the leftmost door. It reminded Therien of the attic room he'd had in his house in Provence, when he was a child.

"It's perfect," he said, and meant it. There was only room for a single bed, a low, square nightstand, and a braided rug. Two walls held out-of-season coats and dresses (all in black), and a small window let in the afternoon light. The clothes made the space feel even smaller, but also cozier. "I don't remember you having this set up like this before."

"I had a friend stay with me for a few months. It was the best solution for her, and now I have a guest bed. Now, put your things down and collect yourself, and I'm gonna make some tea. Come out in like, ten minutes. Okay?"

***

"I need to hear what happened in its entirety," she said with no preamble when he emerged from the room after the short break. She did not comment on the fresh tear tracks on his cheeks, though she did get up to fetch a damp washcloth that she handed him wordlessly. It was warm and felt soothing on his skin.

"Everything? Are you sure?"

She rolled her eyes and settled back on the couch with her tea. "Everything, but leave out the gory details. I don't need to know about each grope and kiss, if that's what you mean."

His face warmed, and suddenly the cloth felt cool in comparison. "Ah. So...I decided last night that I was going to tell Andros how I felt."

"Good for you!"

"This is hard, Dra."

"Sorry. But still. Good for you. I knew you'd work up the courage one day."

He closed his eyes and counted backward from five in French. "We went back to the room and, ah, we were intimate together. It was...beautiful. Dra, he told me he loved me."

She gazed softly at him. "Of course he did. He's been head over heels for you for years."

"How--are you joking?" he demanded. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Sweetheart, it wasn't my place to say. He told me in confidence, as you told me the same kinds of things and I kept them from him. I'm not a meddler, I'm a confidant."

"What an oblivious fool I've been," he mourned, head in his hands. Dra tsked and pulled her feet up beneath her on the couch.

"None of that, now. Tell me the rest."

He sighed. The knot that hadn't left his belly seemed to grow tighter. "After--afterward, we were just talking. We both felt so happy. Things were going to work out. And then...I heard the sound of chains. They just appeared out of nowhere and then they--I don't know how they did it, they just clasped themselves around him."

Her fingers tightened on the teacup. "What did they look like? Did you see them clearly?"

"Gold," he said, and shuddered. "He seemed to know what they meant."

"What did he say?"

"He told me not to look for him. That he loved me." The tears were back, but he didn't care. "He was afraid. He tried to struggle but then--he was gone! They just pulled him away. I didn't see where. He was just...gone."

Therien broke down again. With Dra, it was okay. She was safe.

She was at his side at once, arms around him, holding him close in a protective embrace. "Hush, now. I know you're worried, and scared, and you have every right to be." Dra pulled up an embroidered ottoman and sat on it so she could look up into Therien's eyes. "Now, love, I need for you to pay attention and believe what I say, for this is the truth, as much as any one thing can be Truth."

Therien hugged his arms to himself, but he nodded, confused but willing.

"I know how to find him. But!" she held up her hands to keep him in his seat; he was already halfway to his feet. "But! We cannot just go there. I need to prepare both of us for whatever we will encounter. And before I even do that...I need to know something."

"Anything." The word came out breathlessly.

Her green eyes seemed to glow under her short auburn bangs. "What would you give up to see him safe?"

"I--I don't have much money, but there's the sponsorship--"

"No," she said more sternly. "What would you, Therien, give up of your own, in order to save Andros?"

"Whatever it takes."

"Think about this. You don't know what the cost will be. Your left eye? Your ability to swim? A memory? What would you sacrifice in order to see Andros go free?"

"I will do whatever I must," he said; the words seemed almost pithy but there was a weight behind them that even startled Therien. "I will set him free, no matter who or what has him, and I will do anything to make it so."

"Would you give up your freedom? Your life?"

"Yes," he said slowly, and realized he meant it. "Why, though? What do you know about this?"

"That resolve will be tested, sweetheart," she said, standing. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Now, go. Sleep. I have things to ready and you must rest."

"I don't think I could sleep--"

"Drink this." She produced a small vial and tipped a few drops into his teacup. "It will help."

"What is it?"

Dra shrugged. "A little of this, a little of that. Nothing toxic. It will give you dreams, though. Shut your door so I don't have to listen to them." She winked, and her quiet humor convinced him to down the potion, whatever it was.

He trusted Dra.

Next he knew, he was being eased down to his borrowed bed. Dra tucked the blanket around him; somewhere along the way, his shoes had been removed, and his sweatshirt lay folded on the nightstand. "Rest," she said, voice distant. "I'll come get you when I'm ready to go."

He tried to respond, but his mouth was full of flowers and he was falling, falling, falling.

#river sea stars #jenny writes #original fiction

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